A Gift of Wings
by Deadly-Bagel
Summary: A pair of Night Furies hatch under mysterious circumstances into a big, wild world, unknowingly embarking on a perilous and fateful path fraught with malicious and greedy humans. Changing the world was never going to be easy, but that's what it means to become a hero the hard way.
1. Dream

Awareness...

**_Thump-thump_ **_thump-thump_

Sensation…

**_Thump-thump_ **_thump-thump_

Warmth…

**_Thump-thump_ **_thump-thump_

Movement? A steady swaying. Slight occasional pressure. _Sleep_.

More pressure, closer, firmer, cramped. A brief wriggle – better, comfort.

**_Thump-thump_**_ thump-thump_ _thump-thump_

Awake again. Chest aching.

_Thump-thump thump-thump_

Need… something. Anything. Stop the burning.

_Thump-thump thump-thump_

Movement, pressure – push back. No, not back. Out. Push out.

A sudden release – cold! An involuntary breath, the burning fades. More breaths. Warmth from within fighting off the cold. An unfamiliar sense – dim light assaulting new eyes as they blearily force themselves open and closed. A cry from within, an echo from without.

Another ache, lower this time. _Hungry_. Instincts take charge and nostrils flare. Something… edible. Bits disappear between sharp teeth. _Content. _A warm, comfortable, leathery wall to rest against. _Sleep._

* * *

_Chirp_

What? Something nudged his face, and he woke to find a dark face with big green eyes filling his vision. He shakily rose to his paws, and the eyes followed. _Chirp!_ A tongue assaulted him and knocked him over again. He chirped back, purring and relaxing into the attention.

_Hungry._ He rose to his paws to follow his nose again and tore apart meat and fat to placate his growling stomach.

Sated and exhausted, he found a leathery black nook and went back to sleep.

Sleeping, eating, building strength. Dark to light to dark.

He woke to light spilling from the horizon to feel something else, something new – curiosity. He stared at his paws and forearms. He smelled them. Something moved in his peripheral and he lunged for it, but it slipped away. He stretched the limbs protruding from his back and sniffed them too.

Sound caught his attention, another like him was standing, facing the light and flexing wings. He approached the other and sniffed, which caused it to jump, which caused him to jump. It chirped and cooed and danced around him, so he playfully lunged at it. The pair wrestled until they couldn't move from exhaustion, and then simply lay next to each other listening to their panting.

He crooned happily and felt the other sidle up to him, where they stayed until they caught their breath.

_Hungry_. The other seemed to agree, together they found their meal and consumed their fill. The meals were starting to smell wrong, but they still filled his belly. He fought off the wave of drowsiness and returned to exploring, running his nose along the cold ground and pushing it into cracks in the wall. He sniffed the small trickle of water they'd been lapping at for drink and took in the myriad of smells from outside, all familiar now but still mysterious.

Another movement in his peripheral, but it again slipped away when he lunged for it. He kept up the chase, trying to catch this thing that seemed intent on taunting him from behind, but it was very fast. He was holding still in a low crouch, waiting, when a different movement caught his attention.

A small black thing meandered along the ground, and he crept up to stare at it with wide eyes. It was a little smaller than his paw, had a rounded black shell and lots of spindly little legs to carry it. It scuttled this way and that seemingly without direction. He poked the scuttling-thing with a claw and it tried to scurry away, but he was much faster and kept putting himself in front of it to head it off.

It scuttled towards the light outside and he again got in its way, but rather than turn around it climbed onto his foreleg. He panicked and flicked it off, then leapt over and batted it for good measure. It stopped scuttling. Morosely, he sniffed at it; the shell was now cracked, and the legs twitched and waved uselessly. The now not-scuttling-thing actually smelled somewhat tasty, and it disappeared between his teeth.

His tiredness very suddenly caught up with him and he just dropped where he stood, curling up a little and drifting straight off to sleep.

He never saw the forlorn look that had been following him.

* * *

"Play!" He bounded to catch up to the other-like-him and lunged at it, but it sidestepped and let him crash into the course sand. "Play?" The other just trudged along, its head low and only occasionally glancing around.

He gave up and fell in behind. They had been walking through sand and undergrowth for much of the dark and he was hungry and weary, but stronger than either was his boredom. The air and land were waterlogged from the rain during the light which thankfully gave them fresh little puddles to drink from, but muffled and confused the surrounding smells which he quickly lost interest in. Everything just smelled wet.

He watched the water smelling thickly of salt wash up to his paws, where it left a dark stain on the sand after receding. Movement caught his eye – a bubble. He tilted his head and moved closer to investigate, smelling the sand. There was something there…

He clawed at the spot until he unearthed the source, a green scuttling-thing about the size of his head and with many legs. It righted itself and waved a pair of limbs in the air at him. He walked around it for a different angle, but it kept turning to face him.

He sat back on his haunches and raised his forelegs in imitation. The scuttling thing didn't react. Confused, he dropped back down and reached out to touch one of the limbs, but jumped back with a yip when the thing lunged at him.

The other was next to him moments later, and the thing reared a little higher to encompass them both in its waving. The other backed up, then leapt into the air and brought its weight down on the thing to split it open with a sickening _crack_.

He shied at the sudden violence, but then the smells hit his nose and he was drawn in to share, licking the meat out of the hard shell and crunching up the smaller pieces. They both licked their chops and sniffed for scraps. _Maybe there are more?_

Eyes sharp, he padded along the water's edge and watched the sand when the waves receded. There! He barked and bounded to the bubble, then stepped over and sat behind it. The other followed him and they stared until another bubble surfaced.

"That!" he shouted happily. The other tilted its head at him, but understood as soon as the next scuttling-thing was dug up.

Looking between the thing and the other, who looked at him expectantly, he realised that he would need to get this one himself if he wanted to eat. _Alright then…_ He backed up and crouched low, eyeing his prey warily as the other warbled encouragement.

He sprung into the air but misjudged the consistency of the sand and pitched a little to the side, only landing a glancing blow. The scuttling thing immediately reached up, and pain erupted in his foreleg.

The other's tail waved in great amusement as he yipped and thrashed, sending the thing skidding across the sand. He licked at the pain; while it didn't appear to be really hurt it seemed to confirm the hurt to his mind and the pain receded.

An unbidden growl rose in his throat at the scuttling thing. One of its limbs and some of its legs were splayed uselessly, and he lamented not realising about the pincers before. This time he got a little running start, so the sand didn't surprise him, and successfully crushed the thing.

The other roared with him at his success, and he was left to enjoy it by himself. When he finished and caught up, the other was just finishing off another.

They resumed walking, keeping an eye out for more bubbles, until finally the other seemed to find what it was looking for. Up a short rise on a small beach was a cave, smaller than their last, with good shelter and a rivulet of clear fresh water that ran down near one side.

Too exhausted to explore and overwhelmed from the day's journey, the pair collapsed in a pile and succumbed to sleep.

* * *

His head was tilted in confusion. The other was sat on its haunches, gesturing to itself and making peculiar sounds.

"Wanderer. Wanderer."

He didn't understand, and repeated the sounds. "Wanadarr?"

The other perked happily and patted its chest. "Wanderer."

He patted his chest and repeated. "Wander."

The other huffed, swiping a paw to the side, then stepped forward to put its nose to his shoulder. "Dreamer."

Dreamer understood, if not the meaning of the words themselves. He patted his own chest, "Dreamer," then the other's chest, "Wanderer."

Wanderer tackled him with a happy roar and they tumbled around the floor of their den. Dreamer broke free and shook himself. He wanted to know more! He bounded over to the water and pointed at it.

_Gurgle_. "Water."

He was so excited that by the time he learned the next thing he'd forgotten the last, but Wanderer seemed happy to humour him and he got better at repeating the sounds. He was trying to ask what the scuttling things were when Wanderer padded up and just solemnly leaned against him.

Dreamer wasn't sure what to make of it, especially after Wanderer started warbling and mumbling incomprehensibly, but caught his mood and draped a wing over him. He was strange, this other… _Er…_

"Dreamer this, Wanderer this?"

Wanderer chuffed then made some sounds, and Dreamer made certain to commit them to memory.

This other _Nightstriker_ was a strange one.

* * *

Dreamer was _hungry_. _Again._ Or, perhaps, _still?_ He couldn't remember not being hungry as he prowled the beach for more scuttling-things, but he'd hunted them out many, many nights ago and now rarely found more. Every night Wanderer flapped and scrambled his way up the cliff to disappear over it and would often return with food, but not enough.

The embers of the sky-fire were beginning to light the sky above, so Dreamer dejectedly returned to the den. On his way he saw Wanderer glide in and wait for him, and as he got closer he could see he was holding something in his mouth.

Wanderer set down the rock-like objects and gestured to them. "Egg." He pressed down on one and it cracked open, spilling its gooey contents onto the smooth stone.

The smell was amazing, and Dreamer happily lapped it all up and made short work of the second.

While he was doing that Wanderer was sniffing at his body and wing joints, but politely waited until the eggs were gone before batting him on the head. "Wings!" He stretched his own wings and flapped a few times to demonstrate.

"Hungry!" Dreamer snapped back at him. The eggs had taken the edge off though, so he dutifully stretched out his wings and made slow flapping motions. What used to tire him in moments was slowly getting easier, and he did enjoy feeling the air beneath them. If he closed his eyes, he could almost expect to just float away on the light breeze.

With a satisfied huff, Wanderer padded off to get a drink, then splayed out in the middle of the den. Dreamer joined him when he couldn't keep his wings up any longer, and the two lazily tried to bite each other's legs in a mock fight. It ended when Wanderer, the slightly larger Nightstriker, dropped his weight over Dreamer, who decided he didn't want to move anyway. The weight was comfortable and warm, and quickly lulled him to sleep.

Dreamer was hungry the next night too and spent much of it gnawing on a piece of driftwood that he'd dragged out of the rain, but the night after that Wanderer proudly brought him a plump wing-prey and announced it was all for Dreamer. Staring at the generous meal with his mouth watering, Dreamer couldn't remember the last time he'd seen so much food. Actually, he couldn't remember much of anything right now, the tantalising smell of fresh blood was filling his head.

He ripped away feathers with teeth and claws in a messy haste and tore off large lumps of meat, almost choking a few times. The wing-prey was _huge_, but by the time he was done all that remained was some of the larger bones and the feathery skin. He was busy scraping off the last morsels of fat when Wanderer returned; Dreamer hadn't even noticed him leave.

"Wanderer!" He hastily licked his claws clean and bounded to the other Nightstriker. "Teach fly!" His wings snapped out and gave a hard flap, which sent him staggering back a few paces.

Wanderer perked and hummed happily. "Wings, then sleep, then fly."

"Fly! Fly! Fly!" Dreamer shouted with his wings as he chirped and bounced around the den.

He got a little lesson on the ground while he exercised, Wanderer nudging his wings, tail, tailfins and sub-wings into position, then had him relax and return to the position over and over and over until he was ready to collapse. The sky-fire was flying when they succumbed to slumber in a warm, purring heap.

First to rise was Dreamer, feeling energetic and strangely not at all hungry. He nuzzled and licked Wanderer, then barrelled over him when there was no response. "Hey! Fly!"

Wanderer groaned when sharp teeth bit into his ear, then groggily rolled to look outside. "No. Fly when… dark…" The last words were slow and lethargic as he nodded off again.

With an indignant huff, Dreamer thoroughly stretched all his joints then took to pacing at the mouth of the den. He had _so much energy_ but if he burned it all now he wouldn't be able to fly later. He willed himself to patience, leaning on the hunter instincts buried in him, and focused on the wind caressing his head.

The water sloshed and burbled as little waves rolled up over the sand, and the sky held only white clouds that promised no rain. _What will it be like, to soar through those white towers?_ A pawful of wing-prey passed overhead, returning from sea presumably towards their nests above. Nests that, in the dark, would be filled with meat and maybe eggs. Though he was still full, Dreamer's mouth watered.

The gentle decline stretched out in front of him in the low light. He looked down. He looked at his wings. He looked down again. There was maybe two or three body-lengths of rock, then a gentler decline of sand. _Am I really going to do this?_

He was a little startled when a light gust caressed his open wings. Giddiness rose in his chest and before he could have second thoughts he took a running start and bounded into the air. He held his legs as if to keep running down the rock, just in case, but the ground just fell away below.

Dreamer felt like he was hanging from his straining wings, and every twitch of every muscle shook him in the air. He fought to keep as still as possible, and too late saw the ground rising to meet him. His forelegs were still stretched out, but he was pitched too far forward and face-planted into the loose sand. It didn't abate his excitement – the wind had carried him! He did a little prance in celebration on the beach before running back up to try again.

This time he tucked his legs in after jumping, and made it a little further before nosediving again for another face full of bitter sand. _Now_ he understood what he was doing wrong. On the third attempt he tilted his tail up a little bit, feeling it adjust his pitch. He glided much further, but when he landed he still fell forward into the sand. Maybe his legs needed to get stronger?

Wanderer finally emerged as the embers of the sky-fire burned out, blearily rubbing his eyes and cleaning his face, just as Dreamer was getting comfortable enough to make slight turns by adjusting his tail. Already bounding back up, Dreamer tackled him with a playful growl.

He nipped and batted at Wanderer while he had the advantage but disengaged as the sleepy Nightstriker came to his wits. Wanderer shook, then tasted the air with his nose and eyed Dreamer suspiciously.

Dreamer bounced excitedly a few times then bounded into the air, a little shaky in his glide but much smoother than his first run, though he still ended up in the sand. He returned to an excited, approving Wanderer.

"See." Wanderer jumped out and flapped for a little altitude, then slowly coasted back to the den. Right before he hit the ground, he tilted his tail to pitch back and flared his wings to catch the air. His back legs took the brunt of his remaining momentum and his front legs soaked up the rest.

Dreamer slumped. That was so _easy_; here he'd been eating sand for nothing. His first attempt at landing, he didn't quite pitch back far enough and it was jarring, but he kept his head off the ground. _Yes!_ He did another celebratory dance before jogging back up.

The next task was to learn how to turn; belatedly Dreamer realised it wouldn't do well to fly out to sea with no way back. Thankfully a simple turn was very easy, all he had to do was adjust his wingtips to tilt, reflexively his wings pitched back for height and left him in a graceful bank. Unfortunately, between the slight loss of momentum and the new angle of the slope, he found the ground a lot faster and couldn't level out in time. His rear end spun as he touched down and threw him onto his back.

He grumbled at the amused sounds coming from above as he shook sand out of his ears, and made his way back up.

To do more he needed altitude. Wanderer had him start gliding, then do a single gentle flap just to see how it felt. He wobbled wildly in the air and the little lift he got was lost by the time he got his wings back into position, but he landed without incident. He was much more confident on his second attempt and actually managed a little height.

However, while the stints of gliding had set a pleasant burn into his wings, flapping quickly drained his strength. Dreamer had one last try left in which he was determined to make a last leap of progress. He bounded into the air, flapped with all his strength, then again – with a start he suddenly found himself above the water, much sooner than he'd expected.

He somehow committed to both a third flap and a turn at the same time. Both actions separately would have seen him back safe and dry, but he failed to combine the two and rolled into the water with a panicked cry. It wasn't deep and he was able to quickly scramble to his paws, spluttering, but salt stung in his nose and the water was _cold!_ He'd also landed on his right foreleg which ached a bit.

Clearly concerned, but not enough to get wet himself, Wanderer was pacing along the waterline. When he was sure Dreamer wasn't hurt he started bouncing and they shared a little celebration dance.

"Tired," Dreamer huffed, and made his way back up with Wanderer at his side. He flopped just barely inside the mouth of the den, then stretched out and purred as a firm tongue assaulted his aching muscles.

Wanderer paid particular attention to his painfully sore shoulders, wings, and tail, and enough over the rest of him to clear the salt off. Dreamer was reduced to a rumbling puddle on the cool rock, vaguely aware of an affectionate nuzzle and a quiet flap before being left alone.

He felt really, _really_ good. The burn in his muscles had simmered down to a warm, comforting ache, and his scales felt clean and cool. His mind seemed to be sliding around his head, like the ground was floating away.

Dreamer groggily blinked himself awake to the early onset of hunger; he must have dozed off. It was still dark, and there was no telling how long he'd been out. He stretched and considered going flying again but settled with just slowly flapping his wings without getting up. He wasn't sore but the weariness was yet to wear off.

_Wow._ With a treatment like that before the sky-fire flew, he would sleep like a rock. His chest tightened as he realised Wanderer wasn't sleeping properly – he would occasionally thrash himself awake or keen in his sleep, and then have to drag himself up when the sky-fire burned out.

Then his heart sank as he then realised how much Wanderer had done for him, _was doing_ for him, and Dreamer hadn't really contributed anything. Wanderer was perfectly capable of surviving on his own, Dreamer would last as long as his last meal. Yes he was learning to fly so they could hunt together, but actually flying was still a ways off and then Wanderer would have to teach him hunting too.

He had a lot to think about.

The sky was getting quite blue by the time Wanderer returned, empty-pawed. Dreamer gave him a warm welcome anyway, purring and nuzzling into his neck and chin, but Wanderer shied away. Not discouraged, Dreamer wrapped his forelegs around the Nightstriker's neck and pulled him to the ground, rubbing into him and purring louder.

Wanderer put up with the treatment for a little while but then pushed him off and ambled over to the water. After a quick drink he lay down again a short distance away, resting his head on his paws with his wings tucked down his sides.

Dreamer wasn't giving up. He padded over and put his nose to work; Wanderer smelled strongly of exertion, foliage, dirt, and a single furred creature he must have caught and eaten. Dreamer pushed down the pang of hunger that cried in his stomach, and licked at his friend starting on his back between his wings.

Shrugging him off, Wanderer warned him away with an annoyed bark but Dreamer just batted his head a few times. "Stupid," he muttered at him and kept licking.

There were no further complaints as he did his best to reciprocate, feeling the tension melt under his tongue, and a low purr gradually reached his ears. When Dreamer finished with his back and wings, a small nudge was all that was required to roll Wanderer bonelessly onto his side so the rest of him could be reached.

Dreamer stepped back and smirked at the Nightstriker before him, now completely relaxed and with purrs sliding into the rhythm of sleep. He curled up between the splayed legs, and Wanderer curled around him. They both slept soundly that night.

* * *

Muscles tense, long silent breaths, staying perfectly still and blending into the shadows of the ferns bobbing in the light breeze. Dreamer's claws gripped the loamy ground, his hungry eyes locked on to the target; a hairy, stocky land-prey foraging in the dirt. Some of these land-prey had long, dangerous tusks but this one had short blunt nubs, though being bigger than even Wanderer it still posed significant threat.

Ears automatically made minute adjustments to keep track of the other land-prey in the area, if one stumbled on the him the whole pack would charge and the Nightstrikers would go hungry again. It was surprisingly difficult to catch wing-prey; the trees protected their nests and perches, and even the young were now nimble enough to dart to safety.

Dreamer hadn't eaten in two nights, but the aches and weariness expected from such had vanished in the hunt and were replaced with an intense focus and hyper-awareness. If these land-prey could be taken down, he and Wanderer would eat much better.

Even with his excellent night vision and hearing Dreamer had no warning when a shadow crashed into the quarry from above, but wasted no time in rocketing out from under the ferns. Sound erupted from the forest as the rest of the rest of the prey-pack bolted away from the _warning, danger_ shouts of the land-prey. _Perfect._

It only took him two leaps to reach the thrashing quarry. It was rearing back to try to reach the assailant on its back, but Wanderer had clamped his teeth down on the back of its thick neck and dug his claws in firmly. Dreamer was under it in an instant, and the world slowed down. He could see the land-prey preparing to roll onto its assailant, saw Wanderer's claws pull at the shaggy beast to better expose its neck.

Dreamer was moving without thought, clamping his teeth down on the bared throat – this time, on their third attempt at this hunt, his teeth found purchase and shredded through the flesh, and the taste of blood blossomed in his mouth through the dirty fur. With a twist, using the momentum from his lunge, the flesh in his mouth tore free and the land-prey's startled bellow cut off.

Though it had seemed longer, the whole attack was over in heartbeats and the two found themselves staring at, for the first time ever, more food than they could both possibly eat. Dreamer spat out the lump of fur, and they tore the meal apart in a bloody frenzy.

Dreamer ate until he physically could not eat any more. The meat was tough and dense, and felt unusually heavy in his belly, but it was _glorious_ to finally be sated. Right now he felt like he needed to sleep for a week, and that he would never eat again.

He forced down one last bite and stepped back with a groan, then fell over laughing. Wanderer looked like he'd been dipped in red, in the dim light Dreamer could just see it glistening all over his face, halfway up his forelegs and halfway down his chest. His distended belly just topped it off.

In his haste to feed Dreamer was probably a similar sight, if not worse, and he could feel leaves and grass sticking to him which only made him laugh harder. Wanderer was choking down a last bite when he looked over – but instead of amusement, his features turned to panic.

His laughter abruptly cutting off, Dreamer approached and crooned uncertainly. His friend – now frantically cleaning himself – was highly distressed, which was uncharacteristic. When he met no objection, Dreamer licked at the places harder to reach until Wanderer was a shiny black Nightstriker again, though he then just sat there staring forward and taking long, shaky breaths.

It didn't feel safe to hang around a fresh kill for too long, they'd had run-ins with hunter-packs and were both now too heavy to easily escape to the air. Dreamer tugged and barked at Wanderer until he started moving, and they made their way back – on paws – to their beach. It was unfortunately a bit too far to drag the rest of the carcass with them, but right now they were fed and would soon be safe. They would fly future winds when they came.

When they were safely hidden from the rising sky-fire in their den, Wanderer nudged Dreamer onto his side and nuzzled into him with purrs and croons. Dreamer was too drowsy to do more than relax into the attention, and a few licks under his jaw sent him rolling into a deep, relaxed sleep.

The sky-fire was far from the water when they woke the next morning, but even despite their long much-food-sleep that was how it was now. It flew a long path through the sky and then the next fire would kindle and fly before the embers of the last one died off. The Nightstrikers, who derived their name from hunting in the dark, had to make do with twilight and shadows until the nights returned. Even the clouds seemed to have deserted them.

With no need to eat after the previous meal, the two just played in the sand and water. Dreamer dug a hole and hid in it until Wanderer barked in alarm, then leapt from it and tackled him. Well, tried to, the other Nightstriker was half again as big and only staggered. But Dreamer was faster! He leapt from the retaliation and zipped around the shore, Wanderer playfully snapping at his tail but not able to actually catch him.

He just could not be matched in agility or acceleration. Dreamer angled to his left and let his paws sink into the sand for traction, then threw himself in the complete opposite direction. His pursuer had angled to cut him off but was left scrabbling over himself trying to turn around.

The second time Wanderer was ready, so Dreamer followed through on the turn and left him behind again. He laughed, this was too easy for a game. Wings snapped open and he leapt into the air, here he still had his agility but Wanderer was a much better flyer. They soared and whirled and rode updrafts from where the warm light hit the rocks, but their meal was still heavy in their bellies and they quickly tired.

Swooping back to their den, they discovered a serious problem. With there having been no rain in a long time and with the warm sky-fire burning for so long in the sky, their water source was now little more than a damp streak.

Green eyes met green eyes in concern. "Water near?" Dreamer asked, already knowing the answer.

"No," Wanderer scraped.

The two turned back to the damp groove in the rock and stared blankly. Dreamer could already feel his mouth drying out.

They would need to find a new den.

Wanderer was very unhappy about this, their little beach was safe, however without water it was just as useless to them as to anything else. They couldn't stay.

Anxiety rose in Dreamer's chest, and it wasn't until they were gliding low over the trees before he worked out why. Wanderer was always so confident, so assured, even when they were weak from hunger he always seemed to know what to do. Now, he smelled of and held himself with uncertainty and tension, and that was very worrying to Dreamer.

They glided inland over the treetops. With the water in the ground apparently having dried up, their only hope was that some was caught in a pool somewhere and that meant they had to leave the coast. Wanderer led him through a gap in the foliage and to the ground to walk. The uncertainty had drained from Wanderer's scent but the tension was still there. Dreamer wasn't sure that boded well.

Almost-night fell and they were able to move a bit faster. Dreamer finally worked out they were tracking the stocky prey-pack again, but in the wrong direction. _Of course_, prey needed water too. He started to feel useless again and nudged Wanderer's flank, making to follow a branch in the trail.

"_No. Danger,_" Wanderer growled quietly, brooking no argument. Dreamer slumped and fell in behind. Thankfully the reverse-trail shortly led to a shallow and muddy pool that tasted flat and dirty, but it was a relief on the tongue. It too would soon dry up though, even if they could stand to live on it, so they moved on.

Needing to rest with the sky-fire rising, they found a hollow in the gnarly roots of a big tree to snuggle up under; there was no play-fighting for grooming rights tonight. Dreamer's anxiety kept him from completely falling asleep, he was still aware of every sound and smell but the time passed quickly and he 'woke' feeling reasonably rested.

As the sky-fire burned to embers in the distant water and they were on their third prey-trail, Wanderer became infected with uncertainty again. The prey in this area were roaming far for meagre sips of water here and there, but most of it was drying up. Dreamer nudged Wanderer's flank and shook his wings out, "Fly?" Wanderer cautiously warbled, and the pair took to the air.

The light was dim, but their black figures would be easily visible against the sky and Dreamer felt exposed, so they did their best to hug the foliage as they weaved between the pointy treetops. No fancy moves tonight, they flew efficiently, quietly, and solemnly, though it was refreshing to be back in the cool air. He could almost forget about his parched throat.

For what felt like the first time, Dreamer actually _looked_ at his surroundings. Ahead rose an unfathomably high mountain, most of it sheer and bare but with many forested flats nearer its base. About halfway up it connected to a smaller mountain to the south with a bridge of rock, and there was a third peak beyond that in the distance.

From their low altitude Dreamer couldn't get much of an idea of the layout of the land, but it was very clearly a mess of cliffs and slopes and almost completely covered in vegetation. Not all of it was jagged though, he could see places that had been worn down over time by the flow of water into winding valleys.

_Water_… If they followed a valley they had a better chance of coming across trapped water. He coasted up alongside Wanderer and brushed his wing to get his attention. "Water go down. Follow down." He gestured a path down the nearest valley.

He thought he caught a low growl over the air but wasn't sure. It took the remainder of the almost-night to clear the valley, there were several smooth rock bowls but none with any water left in them. Most had smelled of various land-prey and the largest had reeked of land-hunters, but all the scents were old and they didn't encounter anything.

They took shelter to almost-sleep in a low overhang of rock they could just squeeze under. They would need to sleep properly in a few nights, but they could keep going like this for now.

Between the walking and flying, their enormous meal was now dwindling and the familiar onset of hunger was scratching at Dreamer's belly. He could tell Wanderer was feeling it too by his slight increase in alertness and the way his nose tasted the air as they crawled out from the rock; they would now need to look for food as well as water.

Nervously, they took to the air again. Dreamer felt like a beacon in the bright light, but they had to keep moving so he flew as low as he could and set his jaw against the scrapes his wingtips accumulated.

Some way down the next valley they came across a small pool, but Wanderer told him to stay and they waited and rested while the sky-fire fell lower. Just before it touched the water, a tall land-prey with spindly legs and a long muzzle cautiously approached from downwind; Wanderer had placed them above and aside it, so they wouldn't be sniffed out.

The land-prey was big and looked very fast, but they had to try. Just as they separated, circling their quarry in either direction, it gave a low bark and a much smaller one emerged from the foliage towards the water while the bigger one kept vigil. Dreamer didn't need to confirm the change of target.

Quickly and silently he stalked through the shadows until he was almost upwind of the quarry, where he coiled under a broad fern and waited. When it finished drinking it nosed at the bigger one, which then took its own cautious drink.

An amorphous black shape emerged from behind it. Wanderer would aim to chase the prey towards the trap, though if he could take it down himself then even better. The smaller land-prey noticed the threat with a jump and a surprised noise, and both land-prey bolted away – towards Dreamer.

Dreamer waited for _just_ the right moment to launch himself from hiding, deftly avoiding the larger land-prey which continued going past him. Their quarry angled away, but he caught up easily and leapt high – its belly was as high as Dreamer's back – successfully sinking his claws into its flanks and his teeth into its rump.

Their quarry bucked and stumbled, then pain erupted in Dreamer's chest and he was thrown back. He hit the ground and rolled to a halt, struggling for breath and whimpering as the pursuit disappeared into the trees.

He lay like that until a worried warble sounded and a gentle nose inspected him. Groaning, he leaned so he could inspect his hurt with one eye and found he was missing bunches of tiny scales. He didn't get much of a chance to look though as the hurt was quickly covered by a wet, soothing tongue. With twitches of pain, he felt some loose scales pulled free.

Wanderer murmured reassuringly and alternated between fussing over him and pacing for threats until the pain subsided enough that Dreamer could get a drink. After slaking his thirst he warbled enquiringly, and Wanderer replied with a low _negative_; they would need to hunt again.

Dreamer's claws were still covered in blood, and he raised them to his nose. When Wanderer ambled over, Dreamer held them out for him to sniff too – the prey was hurt and bleeding, they might still eat.

The trail indicated that the prey had run for a distance but quickly slowed down, and they followed inexorably through dense undergrowth and down steep slopes. Dreamer's hurt hampered their progress and his recovery had given it a head start, but its hurt was worse. They would catch up.

The pain subsided as the light faded, and they moved faster as their quarry moved slower. Now that they were in their element they loped silently through the low light in high spirits and with intense focus, but both were shattered when they smelled a hunter-pack overlapping the trail.

The two padded to a halt and stared at each other. Dreamer could feel the disappointment and discouragement on his features, just as he could see it on Wanderer; they would not be the predators to eat this meal.

Wanderer turned to the south, his body language a confused turmoil and his scent laden with anxiety. Under his breath he was alternately hissing about water, food, safety, and danger. There were a few strange and unreadable glances at Dreamer too.

This went on until Dreamer sidled up and nuzzled his neck with his own, "_Trust you._" He could feel Wanderer settle into a sort of grim resolution as he came to a decision.

Up into the air they went, Dreamer's chest loudly complaining its pain to him again with the exertion, and they flew south.


	2. Manifest

The pair of shadows ducked and wove between the treetops, high enough to make haste but low enough that only the sharpest eye would catch even a glimpse.

Wanderer flapped with purpose and drive while Dreamer struggled a little to keep pace. Their flying had improved dramatically over the last few almost-nights, Dreamer's in particular; their recently acquired wing-strength was dangerous to practice while the land had forgotten how to be dark, so this was the most experience and exercise they'd had with it.

With all the time they had spent in the air, Dreamer was beginning to see that he needed to let the air and wind work for him and try not to work against it. An errant gust hit him from the side and he simply angled into it to coast on the lift it provided, while recently he would have banked against it and had to flap to keep altitude. It was learning borne of necessity.

Well before the next sky-fire departed the water, a shift in Wanderer's flying told Dreamer they had arrived. They were gliding into a sort of basin in the hilly terrain, the middle of which was surprisingly devoid of trees considering how densely they surrounded it. As they flew over, it became clear why; the basin dropped sharply into a deep recess in the ground mostly occupied by a large pool of clear water in the centre.

They alighted quietly at the top of a cliff overlooking the hole and melted into the shadows to watch for danger. Upon further inspection, the narrow entrance and exit proved this to be a cove, though quite far from the coast and not currently passing water through. Most of this would probably have been underwater last season from all the rain, but now grass was growing on the loamy ground.

When they were confident it was empty, or at least there was nothing active inside, they glided down and combed the place with their noses; they were alone.

After greedily guzzling down the cool, clear water, Dreamer inspected the high walls surrounding them. They had little visibility of anything sneaking up on them from up there, but then what? Land-hunters could not reach this place, not easily.

Wanderer was still nervous so Dreamer play-tackled him, and they rolled around in the grass until they both only smelled of content and weariness. They then floated in the cool water until the sky-fire showed its light directly to the trees above.

Without much in the way of a nice deep cave, they made do with nestling into each other behind some boulders under a tall rocky overhang. Wanderer crooned _protect, safety_ and _deep sleep_ while nibbling at the itchy-can't-reach spot just behind Dreamer's wings.

Dreamer huffed even while stretching and squeaking his approval. It made sense, he'd had to fly harder to keep up and the hunting would go better if he was the one to rest, but he didn't have to like it. At least Wanderer wasn't trying to fight for the right to groom him, he wasn't sure either of them could spare the energy.

Wanderer's tone shifted to condescending and he started cleaning Dreamer's face – as if for a hatchling! – but a few quick bats to the head put a stop to it. Wanderer rumbled his amusement and shifted to get a view of most of the cove from around the rocks while Dreamer pointedly cleaned his own face.

The sounds and smells and air and ground were all new so when Dreamer did sleep it was fitful, but still much better than he'd had since leaving their cave. He came to a restless awareness when the sky-fire was still quite high, and soon gave up on sleep.

He pulled himself to his paws with a yawn and smacked his chops; Wanderer didn't even stir, they were so familiar with each other that they no longer triggered each other's alertness. He rumbled "explore close" at him, then purred _sleep_ and _protect_. When an ear flicked disapprovingly, he leaned his forepaws onto Wanderer's back and kneaded the itchy-can't-reach just above his tail to happy, sleepy yowls.

Dreamer considered repeating the condescending joke on his friend, which would be a good reverse-version of the joke as he thought about it, but left him to sleep instead. When they were not hungry and wary they would play more jokes and he would make up for it then.

This place didn't smell of safe-nest yet so Dreamer set to work; rolling on the loamy banks, running and tumbling on the grass, marking territory, and splaying out on the big tall rock to bathe in the warmth of the sinking sky-fire while it burned through a gap in the foliage. It was very important work.

But his hunger was making him antsy, and when he found himself absently sharpening his claws on the rock he decided it was time to wake Wanderer. The pair were then bounding through the forest, as much to search for signs of prey-things as to familiarise themselves with their surroundings. He often lost sight of Wanderer, but easily knew where he was by knowing where he was not; everything he could see was not a Nightstriker.

Dreamer's hunger had not abated but it no longer gnawed at him, now that they were hunting it was sharpening his claws and honing his senses. This way, however distracted he was, they both skidded to a halt as they picked up a solitary smell. Dreamer recognised it as a tall-prey-thing like the last one, and the wound on his chest flared. A silent growl rose in his throat, _this time I will feast on its organs and crunch the marrow from its bones!_

The trail was fresh and they moved swiftly, eyes and ears focused ahead but watching and listening everywhere else too. A devious plan hatched in his mind and he pulled ahead a little to signal to Wanderer that he would lead this hunt. There was no argument.

They moved slower as the scent grew stronger. A flicker of movement ahead didn't slow them down, they split up to circle it at a tiny signal. Dreamer felt like he had two bodies, both responding to his whim.

Silently, carefully and quickly, they circled their quarry. A juvenile tall-land-prey, its long legs moving slowly over the dry ground. It was thirsty and tired, but wary; its large ears flicked around, and its head swivelled to small sounds. There was little undergrowth to hide in, but they could trust their scales – if only briefly – in the long shadows of the thick trees.

The quarry caught their movement but they were just flickers at the edge of vision; it didn't yet know its peril. And they were in position.

Dreamer wasted no time and had his Wanderer-body charge out. He watched as the quarry dropped a few paws and sprung away from the threat – _fast!_ – and towards Dreamer.

This tall-prey-thing was slightly larger than their last quarry, but this time he was ready. This time he knew better than to jump behind those thundering hard-paws. This time, when he lunged from his hiding place and the quarry banked away from him, he leaped high with his claws out and raked a row of bloody gashes down the thigh presented to him.

The quarry was badly hurt but not down. _Perfect_. He held Wanderer back and they took up flanking positions, chasing it back up its own trail. If it went any direction but forward it would expose its side to claws and teeth, and it could not let down its guard of thundering hard-paws, so it ran as fast as it could.

The two snapped and snarled at the quarry, forcing it onwards. It stumbled but Dreamer didn't want to strike yet, it was still big and dangerous to young Nightstrikers. It tried to veer away but sharp snapping teeth reminded it that it went where they wanted it to.

They ran, muscles screaming for rest, but it was nearly over.

Dreamer knew these trees on this incline, and why the quarry was suddenly pulling up despite death snapping at its legs. He was veering to cut it off even before it started turning and was presented with the unprotected side of the quarry. With a flap-enhanced leap he sank his teeth into the back of its neck and rolled over it, twisting and dragging it down, as Wanderer crashed into its injured flank.

Ensuring none of himself was under its main body, and that his wings and tail were out of harm's way, Dreamer suffered only a mild battering as they rolled, and then they were falling. He let go and snapped out his wings, for a few panicked moments the wind just slid over him, but then he wrested control and glided around their cove. The quarry hit the ground with a _thump_, and Dreamer swooped in for a merciful kill.

Breathing heavily to catch his breath and savouring the hot liquid in his mouth, he let Wanderer catch up before roaring his defiance and triumph to the sky. Wanderer joined in beside him, if a little more subdued.

Then they were tearing off furry pelt and gulping down meat. The meal was _huge_, bigger than the both of them combined, and it was trapped here in their nest where they were safe from land-hunters. A large wing-hunter could take it from them, but they were rarely even seen soaring high overhead let alone close enough to smell the easy meal.

With the food right there they had no reason to stuff themselves to bursting, so with bellies only as full as their wings would carry they licked their claws and chops clean and went to float in the cool water to recover from the long chase. Wanderer rumbled _recklessness_ and _concern_ over such a big energy investment but purred _success_ and _clever_. Dreamer would be the one to feed them for a long time now, but while he mumbled back _contribution_ and _not-burden_ he knew his body was yelling _pride_ and _elation_.

When the sky-fire burned away the almost-night and some of their energy had recovered, they managed to drag their kill out of sight. Retiring to their sleeping-place, they licked and kneaded each other's aches until they dozed off in a rumbling pile.

* * *

Dreamer was cloaked in cool, blissful darkness. The sky-fire was growing weaker by the night, and he could almost forget the nasty much-light season when it had never truly been dark and they had flitted from shadow to shadow like scared prey.

Now he was stronger, and the night hid him from all eyes so he could soar almost wherever he wanted. He was in his favourite perch, a tiny alcove on one of the island's higher southernmost cliffs where he was hidden from the wing-hunters that nested on the flats. Here, Dreamer liked to gaze at the uncountable sky-sparks above. He couldn't remember ever really _looking_ at them before the much-light season, and now he couldn't get enough. So bright, but so impossibly far away that they barely touched the ground with their light.

He had recently asked Wanderer what his name meant and was a little indignant to learn that it implied he was sleeping all the time. With a strangely pained amusement, Wanderer explained – with no small difficulty – that he could see the world as it was not.

So he still didn't know what his name meant, but here, staring up at the twinkling sky, he could almost get a sense of it.

While not nearly as impressive, below was also interesting and the reason of his preference for this perch. A tiny little island, separated by only a thin line of sea, sported little green lights. Some were stationary, others occasionally appeared and wandered around for a little while. There also didn't appear to be a single tree on the island, but there were a lot of strange humped shapes all over it. He was excruciatingly curious, but Wanderer had very loudly and firmly attached _danger_ and _death_ to the place when they had first been able to fly more freely.

For now, he was content with staring from afar. Perhaps when he was bigger and stronger they would investigate.

The position of the sky-sparks told Dreamer the sky-fire would soon kindle, so he extended his wings and stepped out into the wind. Feeling a bit mischievous, he tilted his wings and let the wind flip him onto his back and into a dive.

He squinted a little to let the shape of his snout push the air over his eyes instead of letting it blast into them, and felt a tiny whistle build in his tucked wings. Wanderer could make a better whistle, maybe because he was bigger.

The treetops were beside him when he pulled out of the dive, his protesting wings flipping his momentum back up into the sky. Freefalling _up_ was one of the best feelings in the world and he revelled in it, spinning and mumbling happiness to himself as he defied the fundamental law of the sky.

Once the momentum had bled out, he flipped out his wings and coasted idly back to the cove, taking the scenic route. The sky-sparks were beginning to dim as the sky-fire kindled, but he was thankfully still hidden in darkness when the cove came into view and he spotted the intruder.

Dreamer's blood turned to fire in his veins, there was an _intruder_ in their nest! How did it even get in there? It was much bigger than he or Wanderer, but it did not have wings. Beyond that, he couldn't see much, it was perched on a rock near the water and hunched in on itself. What was it doing? Waiting for him and Wanderer?

…_Where was Wanderer?_

Panicking, he scanned the cove but there was no sign of his friend, no unmoving black blob in the darkness. A tentative relief settled on him, it was unlikely the intruder had time to fight Wanderer, take him away, then return, and Wanderer had no reason to return early on such a beautiful night.

What should he do? Fighting was unwise, but he couldn't stay in the sky with the sky-fire burning in the water.

He eyed one of the higher cliffs overlooking the cove, it was a safe distance up and had a nice cover of ferns, he could hide with a good view. Not wanting to risk being heard, he glided behind his chosen watch-place and flared his wings to descend slowly and quietly.

Only a pawful of heartbeats passed without sight of the intruder, and it had not moved. Crouching low and peering over the edge with the dry leaves stroking his back, he got a much better look. It seemed to mostly have a very flat fur, except for the very long fur on its top, with a few large grey scales here and there. It was curled in on itself, denying Dreamer a good look at its body.

As the last of the sky-sparks faded, but before the night had really lifted, it looked up. Its eyes both faced forward suggesting it was a hunter, and its face was strangely flat. Dreamer was reminded of some of the bugs he'd found, even more so when it uncurled; its forelegs were freakishly long and thin for its body, and its hindlegs seemed to move at weird joints high in its hindquarters which were covered in long spiked segments.

It got even more bizarre as the hunter-thing slipped down the rock and balanced – not precariously, but surely and confidently – on its two hindlegs, though it had no tail. Forelegs dangling by its sides, it walked towards Dreamer. _Had it seen him?_ No, the entrance to the cove was in that direction, that must be how it got in; its bizarrely tall and narrow body must fit through the crack in the wall.

Dreamer listened to it scuffle its way through the forest until he was sure it wasn't doubling back, then carefully dropped down into the shadows.

The trapped smells of the cove confirmed the land-hunter had been alone, but he couldn't get a good read on its scent. It was as if five different hunter-things and prey-things had been mashed together, he even recognised some of them, and there was a weird sharp earthy undertone. He was still sifting through it all when Wanderer returned, who immediately picked up on the smell with a low growl.

"Here, land-hunter nest-place?" Dreamer offered, if one could get in and out it offered good protection and clean water, but Wanderer flicked a _negative_ with his paw and refused to say more. He seemed very conflicted as he traced the smell from the entrance to the rock, and back again.

Regardless of Wanderer's reaction, Dreamer didn't like it either; this hunter-thing had just wandered into and out of their nest, it could do so again. But should they move? There weren't any good caves nearby, and they didn't know of any other reliable source of water; there had been light showers, but no good rain to replenish the land. He didn't want to fight the land-hunter if he could help it, it was totally alien to him.

For a pawful of nights after that they observed their nest from hiding while the sky-fire kindled and started to fly, and for longer after that they alternately slept in alert almost-sleep under a fern on a small ledge; they were familiar now with the sounds of the cove, but they kept an eye open as well. The land-hunter did not return.

It clawed at Dreamer's insides. What did it want? If it wanted to take their nest he could handle that. If it wanted to steal their food he could handle that. If it wanted their water he would hide and let it drink, as they did with the wing-hunters that sometimes visited during the light, but it had wanted none of those things. Was it specifically after them?

He had to know more, night after night of this was driving them crazy. Wanderer had only repeated _danger_ and _death_ when he had suggested it, so he would just go – carefully – on his own.

As usual he rose with the sinking sky-fire, having been his turn to sleep deeply, completed his morning routine including a tussle with Wanderer, and set to the sky. This night however, when the sky-sparks covered the sky between the sprawling clouds, he swooped down and landed on one of the lower ledges on the north-west side of the precarious spire that topped the small island.

He'd never been this close before, and strange sounds met his ears. Loud barks and cries mostly, wildly varying in pitch and tone without sense or reason, punctuated with regular wooden banging noises. What kind of pack was this? They actively announced their location, though the sheer number of them was daunting; perhaps that was their way of warding off threats.

Slowly, carefully, Dreamer rounded the spire. The eyes of the hunter-thing in their cove didn't look good for night-seeing, and there was so much noise he could crash land here and they wouldn't notice, so he was confident. He tried not to let his curiosity stoke, tried to convince himself that this was purely to put his mind at ease, but part of him was giddy at finally getting a closer look at what he'd stared at from above for so long.

The more he rounded the spire the more light was visible, like the green ground-sparks he would watch from his perch but much stronger. It gave him a good view of one of the nearby humps which appears to be many trees woven and flattened into shape. Very strange.

A little further showed him the light came from a cave in the very rock he crept upon, and spilled down the rocky teeth below. Fires burning at the top of tall rocks flanked the entrance, creating numerous shadows to hide in, but he was wary of approaching further. Dreamer watched a much bulkier tall-land-hunter walk from the cave and down the rock-teeth, and at one of those strange barks it turned around and barked back. It was close enough that he got a very good look at its features and the things it draped itself in.

Then pain lanced through Dreamer's head and his world went black.

* * *

Stoick stared sombrely at the fire. It was not doing a very good job of lighting the house, but it didn't matter. He could see his boot, the only one he was wearing and was halfway through undoing. The one he had started undoing half an hour ago.

He sighed, his pillow calling to his weary, sleep-deprived body and mind. Staring at the fire all night would not stave off the inevitable forever. The boot finally removed, he stumbled to bed and stared at the ceiling, praying for peace.

Peace, like Hiccup and Valka had wanted. _I don't want to fight dragons_. That had been what his son had said a year ago, almost exactly now. He hadn't listened, he had never listened. _I promise you dad you can't win this one!_

He could, in his mind's eye, only watch as his son flew on the back of that Night Fury, single-handedly plucking friends and the entire village from danger, and then bringing down the immense dragon they had roused.

No… Please Odin, not again... _The pair fired directly into the beast's mouth and pulled up just shy of the ground, the beast crashing into it behind them. The shockwave nearly knocked everyone off their feet, and when Stoick looked up he saw it had thrown Hiccup from his dragon which was desperately flapping to reach him again._

Please… _A fireball followed moments after, and the pair and the crumpling queen were hidden from view._

"…_For a great… _man… _has fallen…"_

No more… _He was stumbling through the wake of the dreadful blast, great flakes of ash floating peacefully in the air. "Hiccup! Hiccup!" he shouted into the smoke, but there was no reply. "Son!"_

"…_a warrior…"_

Not again… _A black shape materialised in the gloom as he neared, the Night Fury curled on itself and breathing raggedly. He half ran and half staggered to it, finding its saddle, tail apparatus and part of its wing were all twisted, broken and ruined beyond repair._

"…_a son…"_

No… _He was barely aware of a gasp behind him. "Oh son…" He kneeled in front of it and it roused, opening an eye to fix him with a glare. _You did this, _it said. It was right._

"…_a–… a friend."_

Stoick was roused by unholy screeches and shrieks from just outside. Pulling himself out of bed, he hastily donned his shoes and coat, then crashed through the door. His mask of chiefly authority was already settled over his face.

By this point, shouting had been added to the din and villagers were streaming from the Great Hall and their houses. He waded his way through the crowd to find Astrid and Snotlout wrestling with something at the base of one of the large torches by the entrance to the Great Hall, the fire casting eerie shadows over them.

"What's going on here?" he bellowed.

"It's not what it looks like sir," Astrid said hurriedly over the shrieks, "we found it like this."

Stoick approached cautiously to see they were wrestling with a shadow, and his breath caught in his throat as his eyes adjusted to its features. "Is that…?"

"A Night Fury? Yeah. A little one." Murmurs behind him spread like wildfire.

_What on Midgard…?_ They'd brought Toothless back with them and kept the listless dragon warm and fed for the winter, but it'd disappeared as soon as the snow started melting. They'd searched as far as they'd dared – the dragon wasn't ever flying again – but hadn't found him.

And now this. Stoick reeled with questions, but they could wait. Had to wait. He reached down and wrapped his hands around the fledgling, making sure to pin its forelegs so that the claws couldn't scratch him, and picked it up.

It thrashed in his hands, beating its head against his wrists, then very suddenly went limp. He quickly loosened his grip, but the little dragon was still breathing if raggedly.

"I call di–" Snotlout started, but was cut off by Astrid elbowing with enough force to drop him to the ground.

"Someone get Fishlegs!" Stoick roared and motioned to Astrid to follow, but found himself facing a wall of villagers. Astrid actually had to wave her axe to give them room to reach Stoick's conveniently close and quiet home.

It wasn't until he was inside that Stoick realised how loud it was out there, people falling over each other for a look at the legendary dragon – though even as he held it Stoick couldn't get a good look in this low light.

He kicked a discarded garment to the fireplace and gently laid the dragon on it, then grabbed some wood and coaxed the fire back to life. Astrid fetched water for two bowls, one she laid next to the dragon and the other she dipped a clean cloth in to wipe at its head. It came back red.

Trying not to jump to conclusions, he let out a slow breath. "From the start, lass."

Astrid nodded while she worked. "We were just hanging out in the Great Hall when we heard the screeching, I grabbed the nearest Viking – _Snotlout_, typically – and we bolted for the sound. Took us a moment to realise it was coming from on top of the Great Hall, when it damn near fell on us. Once we realised we _weren't_ under attack, we got a closer look and found it _clawing_ at its own _head_. Just got it pinned when you arrived."

He nodded slowly, and they stared at the dark lump on the floor until there was a nervous knock on the door. Stoick sighed. He would never understand this boy, but at least knew how to deal with him now. With Gothi refusing or unable to treat dragons he'd become the unofficial dragon expert, and they needed his services regularly for the few dragons that had come back with them to Berk and for a few wild dragon problems.

Stoick planted his boot in front of the door and turned the latch. It immediately burst open but only as far as the boot, which allowed him to reach out and grab Fishlegs over his mouth to stop the word-vomit before it could start. "_Fishlegs. Serious,_" he growled, and the boy nodded with wide eyes.

Stoick stepped back and allowed Fishlegs into his house. The boy _could_ be serious when he needed to be, if he sometimes needed reminding, as Stoick observed him checking over the dragon with concerned noises. He and Astrid took a seat as he worked.

"Interesting," Fishlegs murmured at one point, and the three of them jumped as the dragon then screeched and thrashed for a moment before going limp again.

Finally, Fishlegs delicately adjusted the Night Fury on the garment, moved it a little closer to the fire, and kneeled next to it facing Stoick and Astrid. "Well, physically he seems fine by average dragon standards, aside from the scratches on the head." Astrid received a look that said she would be interrogated later. "But, we know next to nothing about Night Furies. Only what Hiccup jotted down in his journal and, well, I hesitate to use what _we_ know of Toothless as a baseline."

"The _point_, Fishlegs."

"Right, uh, from his reactions I'd say this is some sort of psychological trauma. His mind is being overwhelmed by something. He was found by the Great Hall?" Astrid nodded. "This is _weird_. He doesn't seem old enough to have been through the sort of experience that would cause… this," he gestured to the dragon, "then somehow make his way here.

"For now he needs to rest. We'll know more when… _if_ he gains consciousness. I'll monitor him and keep this fire stoked."

"It's not staying here Fishlegs. Take it up to the stables."

"All due respect Chief, we are _not_ moving him."

"No."

"We have no idea how fragile he is right now, it could cause permanent damage. And it's much easier to keep him warmer in here, pluuuuus I don't want to introduce him to the other dra–"

"Alright, alright, fine," Stoick interrupted. "Astrid, hand him a blanket from that cupboard. You," he rounded on Fishlegs, "are going to _follow your own advice_. None of your… _dragon nonsense_ until he's stable."

"But-"

"_That's the deal_. Unless you have a _very good _reason, keep your hands _to yourself_." He turned to see Astrid out before there could be any argument. "Must be Thor's Day," he grumbled to himself while rolling back into bed, "never could get the hang of Thor's Day…"

He grit his teeth when the boy started whispering, but he was reminded of listening to Hiccup furiously scribbling away at the desk in his room above, and let it slide.

The nightmares weren't so bad that night.

* * *

Hiccup worked the pedals by Toothless' shoulders and they almost seemed to flip in the air, screaming towards the ground one moment and away from it the next. The thin, smouldering leather had just barely held for the manoeuvre.

The creature behind them had been travelling just as fast however, and they only just got clear of it. Toothless was trying to angle them up and away, but something slammed into them from behind and they were unexpectedly ripped apart and thrown straight up.

Dazed, Hiccup watched Toothless twist in the air and flap to reach him, and then he was enveloped in a tight leathery embrace. The world went dark, but he could hear the fire roaring past them, felt it even through his friend's fireproof hide.

Then there was pain. Hiccup couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, his right arm was _gone_ and he couldn't feel anything further down than an excruciating pain halfway down his back.

He felt oddly calm about it, seeing everything with a cold detachment as if from a distance. He had no reason to panic, to do anything other than wait for death to claim him and see where it led. He let go of his broken body, and the world crackled and sparked away.

_Dreaming_.

He was dreaming. A long, happy dream, but he was waking up now. He knew because he could remember himself before the dream, unlike a dream where you knew nothing of your waking self.

His head hurt, both a deep throbbing ache inside his skull and a sharp pain on his scalp. _Is this Hel? Guess I was never a great Viking after all… Didn't even have a dagger to go out with._

Waiting for the throbbing to lessen, he felt his memories clicking together like a great puzzle. Pieces fit in here and there, forgotten until they rotated and slotted into–

"Toothless!" he tried to shout and jolt upright, but failed at both. What he managed was a strangled sound and a twitch. That set his head off again, but the pain faded more quickly. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and the shape before him resolved into the main room of his house. _I'm… in my house?_ He rolled and was startled by Fishlegs staring at him with wide eyes, about a foot away. _You're… in my house…_

Hiccup tried to ask what happened, but his mouth refused to form the words. Groggily he raised a hand to his head – _Oh, that's not a hand. Haha, I'm still dreaming._ This dream apparently did not want him to do anything right now because his head was blindingly painful, so he just closed his eyes and relaxed. What was it that Tuffnut had called this? A lucid dream? Yeah, that was it. Awesome, he'd love to play dragon.

The memories were still slotting into his head, but he couldn't make sense of them. What had happened after the battle?

As if on cue, that memory slotted into place and his eyes painfully jerked open. There was _no way_ he had survived that. Huh. Maybe his soul was actually that of a dragon? That would explain how he'd connected with Toothless so readily. A lot of other stuff too, as he thought about it. He didn't feel cut out for Valhalla anyway.

So, he was in the dragon afterlife? Which was apparently… his house. Fishlegs was here too. Okay, he was still working out the details.

Leaning on his memories as Dreamer – and how _appropriate_ that name seemed now – he worked his dragon body into rising, finding the large bowl of water next to him. It was a little warm from the fire, but fresh and soothing on his parched throat.

He licked the bowl dry and stared at the fire. Hiccup was pretty sure fires weren't normally green, they were… yellow… The thought sent small shooting pains through his head again, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He could almost see the memories now, not slotting into place but _converting_ to his dragon head. He could remember fire was yellow, but not what yellow looked like.

"Ww ltilte guuuy, youw wree rlelay thstiry. I'lll guht youw smoe mroe wtear."

_What?_ Hiccup recognised talking, and he was thinking in Norse, but his ears were picking up tones and sounds that skewed the words to be almost unrecognisable. He could even hear the saliva sticking in Fishlegs' mouth and throat while he worked them.

As he watched Fishlegs retrieve more water, a thought hit him. As if to confirm that thought, a _mountain_ rose from the far end of the room and proceeded to drape itself in furs. Hiccup froze. Part of him was trying to find solace in that this hulking mass was surely his father, but he himself was by all appearances a _Night Fury_. The two didn't have the best track record together.

The mountain stomped towards him. He could feel the vibrations through his paws, and his wide panicked eyes soaked in every detail, but he couldn't see his father's expression past that _enormous_ beard.

The walking mountain stopped, grumbled to Fishlegs and was passed something with quiet words, then lowered to his knees and hunched over. Hiccup could see his expression now, half of it anyway, and it was full of wonder and questions and completely devoid of malice. In that pose, Stoick shuffled the last few paces and held out a small fish.

Relief washed over Hiccup. Whatever bizarre reality this was it wasn't one where he would be tortured and possibly killed – again? – by his father. Collecting himself, he eyed the fish hungrily. When it was close enough, he leaned forward, gingerly took it in his teeth and swallowed it in two bites; it wasn't a small fish after all, his father just had ridiculously large hands.

Fishlegs returned with the water bowl refilled and Hiccup gratefully lapped up a bit more, listening to the conversation between his father and Fishlegs but not able to understand it. Stoick's attitude was relieved and – separately – resigned. Fishlegs was bouncing on his heels.

Hiccup froze again. _Uh oh_.

* * *

Wanderer paced anxiously in the darkness. He'd circled the area several times now, but no matter what he did he just could not see any way to retrieve Dreamer. He'd heard the cries and rushed towards them to find him being bodily held down by a pair of Long-Paws with more gathering. Panic gripped him; they were _torturing_ his Dreamer, and every shrill shriek dug icy claws into his chest.

He'd been about to jump in with teeth and claws to allow Dreamer to escape, but the giant Long-Paw was suddenly there. Even with Nightstriker blood in the air, even when Dreamer suddenly went still, he knew he couldn't take on that behemoth. It would do neither of them good to both be captured or killed.

He could only watch with some relief to see Dreamer still breathing as they carried him into the nearby flat-tree-den. Wanderer had been prowling for opportunity since; it gave his paws something to do.

So help him, if Dreamer didn't return _unharmed_ he would _raze_ this _entire_ small-land to the _sea_.

The sky-fire was starting to kindle when Long-Paw sounds emerged from the flat-tree-den. He darted to the back of it and blended into the darkness, keeping his ear close to the wall.

His heart leapt when he heard Dreamer, he was making _do not want_ sounds but they weren't panicked; that was very good. Was that a growl? It was followed by hurt and plaintive Long-Paw noises, and Wanderer felt great pride for him.

Carefully, quietly, Wanderer chirped. Not loud enough for the Long-Paws to hear, but by the sudden silence from inside, Dreamer had heard. He chirped again and a commotion started, crashing and surprised Long-Paw noises, then a hard scratching and incredulous Long-Paw noises that quickly turned to panic.

Then Dreamer was beside him, and they were bounding into the darkness and out of sight before leaping from the nearest cliff.

Under the early light they roared their happiness and relief, and looped in tight circles around each other above the water. Sadly, they were soon forced back to their nest by the rising sky-fire, though having run on panic and worry for most of the night Wanderer was flagging.

As soon as they landed in their nest he was all over Dreamer looking for hurts. The smaller Nightstriker was holding himself well, and the only outer hurts were the shallow scratches on his forehead.

Wanderer snarled and grumbled as he licked at them, but Dreamer shook his paw. "No. Dreamer hurt Dreamer." That didn't make sense and Wanderer was sure it was still somehow the Long-Paws' fault, but Dreamer wasn't holding a grudge so he wouldn't either.

Then there was much cuddling and crooning in the sleeping-nest. Dreamer didn't quite share the same enthusiasm for their reunion – it had only been one night, after all – but Wanderer didn't care. He nuzzled in behind Dreamer's head to breathe his scent, separating it from the myriad of Long-Paw scents, and wrapped him tightly in his wings.

He felt the long breath Dreamer took before he spoke. "What… tall-land-hunters?"

"Long-Paw. Very danger. _Stupid_ Dreamer–"

Dreamer cut him off by bumping his chin, and took another shaky breath. "Wanderer, Dreamer friend… before Dreamer Nightstriker…?"

Wanderer went rigid. Dare he hope again? It had been far too long…

"When… Dreamer Long-Paw?"

The wing snapped and Wanderer's emotions burst forth. He keened and whined, grappling to hold Dreamer – the _real _Dreamer – tightly to him. For so long he had been alone and lost, until this fragile long paw had somehow, miraculously, established a connection between them. Despite everything Wanderer had done to its nest, this fledgling had not seen an enemy. It had seen _him_, as an individual, and as one it wanted to help just for the sake of helping, and the bond they kindled had grown stronger with each night.

Wanderer had wanted so much for his impossible Long-Paw to live, had grasped at straws and it _seemed_ to work but it was an impossible thing and then it _wasn't_ his Dreamer but that was impossible also, and he didn't know what to think…

Wanderer whined and wailed all of this and more without restraint while Dreamer just held to him firmly, purring _happiness _and _reassurance_, until eventually – somewhere between twitching his failure to protect and mumbling guilty regret for not blasting the giant Long-Paw when he had the chance – the exhaustion claimed him, and he fell into a light but comfortable sleep.

* * *

_**Author's Notes**_

_For those who hadn't worked it out already I didn't want to spoil things. Now that the Terror's out of the sack I can give a huge shout out to Brothers of Night, my primary inspiration for this work. It's an amazing fic and I highly recommend reading it if you haven't already. _

_Of course, this will be my own take on a Dragon-Hiccup story and is (as far as I've written) quite different from anything I've read so far, some of which will be evident in the next chapter. Speaking of, this will update weekly for the immediate future and hopefully I can maintain my buffer to continue posting regularly (may drop to 1-2 weeks due to interference by that pesky 'life' thing)._

_Constructive criticism is welcome, __general feedback and thoughts are greatly appreciated (if you review chapters as you go I will love you forever), and I hope you enjoy! ^_^_


	3. Decision

Hiccup-Dreamer slowly drifted to awareness at dusk. He'd spent much of the previous night unconscious, and while that wasn't the same as sleep his body was crying out for him to move, to do something. Everything in his head now seemed to be in place; at least, the pain was gone and he was starting to think more clearly as he woke. Much more clearly than yesterday.

His mind reeled into focus and his eyes snapped open. He had unequivocally been killed in the battle with the queen dragon, there was no denying that, so he could only be in the afterlife. However, while he wasn't familiar with dragon gods, it made no sense for the afterlife to be an exact copy of Midgard complete with its people, so he could only be still alive.

Wanderer – Toothless – stirred, and Hiccup hastily separated from him. Nobody had ever even seen a Night Fury before, let alone had any idea of their capabilities. The words '_dark dragon magic'_ were doing frantic laps in his head.

The world spun and he fought to stay upright, automatically grounding himself by focusing on the smell of the cool air, feeling the damp grass beneath his paws. Paws! The spinning got a little worse. It was as if he had woken from a pleasant dream to find he was still asleep, and reality was trying to brute force its way into his mind.

A nudge bought him back to his senses to see Toothless – an adorable, tiny baby Toothless – on his haunches, watching him with his head bowed submissively. His expression was pained but understanding when Hiccup took a step back.

"H… how?" Hiccup asked jerkily in the dragon language.

Toothless let out a slow breath, then spoke slowly. "Nightstrikers rare, special. Need much for… make." He swung his tail out in front of him and put a paw on his left tailfin. The one that had been ripped off, though it was now much less absent. "Have way for survive grounding. We… hatch again." He whined and looked away, kneading the grass, when Hiccup just continued to stare at him. "I not know how hatch you again. Just wanted… wanted not be alone again…" He sank to the ground and covered his face with his paws, the dragon equivalent of sobbing.

Hiccup had to consider all that Toothless had done for him over two seasons, after apparently saving his life – in a way – and felt a little bad. He approached the prone dragon and pressed his snout to his head. "You not bad, I not fear you. This… very strange. I not know… what think." There was no reaction.

He sighed. Questions burned inside him, and he needed answers, but Toothless was still the best friend he'd ever had and Hiccup didn't want him upset. Demanding answers would get him nowhere, he needed to get Toothless out of this moping first. They could finally talk, and he could ask all the silly little questions he'd ever had! Except, now that he actually could, he drew a complete blank.

Finally, an innocent question floated to the surface. "What name you give Long-Paw me?"

_Snort._ "You always Dreamer. You free big-deadly-hunter-thing. You follow big-deadly-hunter-thing. You feed, play with big-deadly-hunter thing. You–… you make new tail-fin… You _climb _big-deadly-hunter-thing. _Stupid_ hatchling. Sire, dam–"

This was followed by a string of words Hiccup didn't know yet, but the tone left him with a pretty good idea of exactly what Toothless thought of his parents. At least he had sat up and wasn't hiding under his paws anymore.

The tirade finally ended with a huff, and they sat in awkward silence.

"…What my Long-Paw name?"

If Hiccup was physically capable of going white, he would have. The name had been accidental, a jest and merely something to call to announce himself. Thankfully Toothless was staring contemplatively to the side and hadn't noticed him go rigid.

Toothle–… er… Wanderer tapped his claws on a rock, growled, then hissed. "Name sound like _hunting_, dangerous, strong, –"

"You hunt praise for feel better," Hiccup teased, hoping it masked his trepidation. Could he convincingly say it meant nothing? He wasn't sure.

"–mysterious, wild, –" he continued, ignoring Hiccup to list haughty descriptions for himself.

Hiccup realised he really was fishing for praise, and the words slipped out in a brief and suicidal desire to put the arrogant dragon in place. "No-Teeth."

"–…"

"…"

The only warning Hiccup had was a miniscule – and yet still somehow violent – twitch of his friend's jaw, accompanied by a barely audible _snick_, but it was enough; he was off.

"I show _you_ no-teeth! _Come back here!_"

Genuine fear fuelled his legs in tight laps around the cove. While he didn't think Too–… _Wanderer_ would really hurt him, the snarling and snapping at his tail was not entirely playful. The dragon might have decided to give him a permanent reminder of his insolence.

Hiccup would have had no trouble keeping ahead, being forced in circles as they were, but it was difficult to breathe around his hysterical laughter.

He did several laps of the cove before the pursuit tailed off. With Wanderer pacing the other side of the lake, Hiccup collapsed and wheezily tried to recover his breath. He only remembered _dragons can fly_ at almost exactly the moment Wanderer lunged straight at him from across the water, and he was on his paws again.

Wanderer started trying to cut over the lake, while it cost him distance it was wearing Hiccup down faster to keep changing direction. Hiccup couldn't find any way to use his wings more efficiently than his legs, though not through lack of trying, and leaving the confines of the cove was certain to be his end.

Finally, the fight left him. He could no longer maintain his prodigious speed and resigned himself to whatever fate awaited, reflexively tucking his wings tightly to his body. The first strike was a pounce on his tail, the sudden drag throwing him out of his stride and to the ground. The second strike was Wanderer unexpectedly tumbling over him, clearly not having thought the attack through, though he recovered quickly.

Hiccup found himself on his back, desperately throwing limbs in the way of the snapping jaws aimed at his neck and body. The teeth were very sharp, but the bites were weary and weak such that they tickled more than they hurt which – horrifically – caused loud involuntary squeals that further enraged Wanderer.

Eventually the assault ended with Wanderer dropping bodily on him, and they lay in a heaving heap. Hiccup's legs prickled and tingled, though not unpleasantly, and his muscles burned in a way that said he would be very cramped tomorrow. He didn't regret it.

As he caught his breath, Hiccup's mind started wandering again. "I not can go back Long-Paw, can I?" The question was mostly a statement.

Wanderer sighed. "World is big, many strange things. I not think Long-Paw can be Nightstriker." He tilted his head so he could glare at Hiccup with a single green eye. "…Would you go back…? If could…?"

Hiccup couldn't answer the question. Part of him longed to return to his own body, to go back to tinkering in the forge and covertly staring at Astrid whenever she brought in her axe for repair. Another part of him was happy to be free of all the expectations, disappointment, and particularly the bullying. There was also the fact that he was a _Night Fury_, the fastest, smartest, strongest, and best-looking dragon.

…

He was _pretty_ sure he used to think that as a human, and hadn't just inherited a draconic arrogance.

Avid curiosity suddenly spiked in him. He knew his own body of course, living as Dreamer, but now he had an appraising eye. He knew that most of his body was covered in tiny little scales, but holding a foreleg up to his face he found he couldn't focus on them. The tree on the other side of the cove seemed clearer than his own paw. Well, a little farsightedness was to be expected.

Maybe he would see better in the light, he'd forgotten the sky-fire had set ages ago as the cove was startlingly clear despite being only lit by sky-sparks and a tiny sliver of sky-ice. _Guess I'm nocturnal now,_ he mused as he surveyed the world in monotone night vision.

He took a moment to appreciate how the dragon words weren't out of place halfway through an otherwise Norse thought, and that some of the dragon-words had almost completely replaced Norse ones. The… _sun_ was a fire, it was in the sky, ergo sky-fire. The… _moon_ was a cold ball that waned with proximity to the sky-fire, and it was also in the sky, so it was sky-ice.

It was a pity he couldn't geek out about it with Fishlegs, the enthusiastic teen would love to document all this. _Would have, anyway… _Had it really been nearly a year?

He cut that line of thinking for now, busying himself with sheathing and unsheathing his teeth – a _bizarre_ sensation – and playing with his claws. Wanderer tired of his fidgeting and rolled off, allowing him to try to shake his fatigue away.

Stretching his wings out, he felt his tail flex behind him automatically. If he'd not already lived in the body for so long, the jump from four limbs to seven, not even including the sub-wings, would have been a severe shock. Now, the thought of having five long dextrous fingers was the strange thing. Although, he had to admit, breathing fire was still a completely foreign concept. _That_ was something to look forward to.

Hiccup considered his name. Dragons didn't seem to get hiccoughs and probably had no word for it, and he didn't want to ask Wanderer how to say 'runt'. He certainly wasn't going to ask to be called either. He never did like that name, so he reasoned he might as well accept his dragon one what with currently being a dragon and all.

…

If he'd expected some profound change of identity, he was disappointed. Actually, he seemed to be taking the whole thing pretty well all things considered, though that he had already been living in this reality for two seasons was certainly a huge factor. Still, maybe he should chalk up an existential crisis for himself later to make up for it.

The big question was, what now? He needed to talk to Wanderer some more but the nearby snoring told him that wasn't happening soon. Well, the nights were long, he had time.

* * *

It had been a hard sell, but Dreamer had managed to coax out that Wanderer didn't really have a solid plan for the winter beyond 'hole up somewhere and hope we don't freeze,' and convinced him from there.

That was how he found himself lazily slumped over the nose of the dragon carved from the protruding ridge beam of his old house in the pre-dawn. He reasoned it was perfectly plausible a dragon would return, if warily, to a place it had been treated and fed. Wanderer trusted him enough that he was also there, laying between the ears of the carving, but while he may have appeared relaxed his eyes and ears were subtly darting around. Well, Dreamer could hardly blame him. As far as he knew, the only experience Wanderer had had with the Viking village was being beaten and chained.

_Had they even fed him on the boat?_ It took four days to reach the nest by water with a good wind. Dreamer felt his stomach turn, suddenly aware of how very tired and hungry the poor dragon must have been during the fight with the queen. Berk would be making amends whether it knew it or not.

Of the villagers, there was a steady trickle trekking into and out of the Great Hall. The nights may be long but work still needed doing, it just depended which side of the night they preferred doing it. None of them had yet noticed the two Night Furies lounging on the house, though that wasn't surprising in the low light.

Dreamer grew impatient when the sky-fire peeked out of the water, and allowed a squeaky yawn to escape as a group of women passed. It didn't take long after that for a crowd to assemble, all cooing and whispering excitedly.

The sound of wings caught his ears, giving short warning of the Nadder landing at the edge of the crowd with a loud Viking on its back – _Astrid!_ – who seemed a model of authority as she waved and yelled at the crowd until it started to disperse. _Nice to see nothing has changed_.

Dreamer barked a greeting at the Nadder Astrid had called Stormfly, who perked up, chattered, and moved closer to trill a reply. The crowd edged closer again, and even Astrid was now too interested to chase them off or maybe even notice.

"I Dreamer!" he announced himself. If he sounded like a giddy fledgling, well, he was definitely giddy, and technically a fledgling.

Stormfly first spoke with her body, saying _safe, healthy, happy, curious, surprised,_ all at once. This must have put Wanderer at ease, as he crept further along the head of the carving to better show himself, and Stormfly hummed and bobbed her head.

"You safe here. Your sire, dam?" she asked. Her voice was sharp and shrill, and she had no forelegs, but amazingly Dreamer was able to pair the sounds and movements with what he and Wanderer used. He couldn't keep the goofy grin off his face.

Beside him Wanderer crooned _negative_ and Stormfly changed her posture to _sad_ and _sympathy_. "Your sire do much good." Dreamer was still contemplating that when she spread her wings low in _welcoming_. "Stay! Food! Safe! Good nest!"

Wanderer made a neutral sound that Dreamer assumed to be along the lines of "maybe" or "decide later." Stormfly bobbed happily, then startled back with a flap when the front door of the house flew open.

Stoick emerged, shouting into the crowd. Dreamer still couldn't make out the words, but interestingly the tones spoke _confusion_ and _annoyance_ in Dragon. He only had a moment to wonder how much he'd really been talking to Wanderer as a Long-Paw, before almost every other arm in the growing crowd rose to point at him.

Dreamer and Wanderer looked down. Stoick looked up, and got a double serving of innocently curious Night Fury face; big eyes, ears out, and head slightly tilted. The big man's melting heart was visible in his awed expression, something Dreamer had not seen for… ever.

When he caught sight of Astrid with her hands over her mouth and trying not to gush, Dreamer let his tongue loll out. He was having fun. Then Stoick shook himself out of it and started shooing everyone away, barking _threats_ and _big scary_ into the crowd, though the only actual word Dreamer understood was "–Fishlegs!"

Shortly afterwards they were investigating the dragon arena; it was no firelit longhouse, but it was sheltered and calm. The chain netting had been removed, everything cleaned, and the doors removed, so that what were cages now resembled caves. The dragons would be free to come and go as they pleased, which was very good to see. All but one of the caves were clearly claimed, that being the one that had held the Terror.

Dreamer was a little shy at having an audience as they inspected what was apparently their new den – Astrid and Stoick had both joined Fishlegs in coaxing them to the ring with fish – but Wanderer had no such qualms and was quickly losing his apprehensions. He tackled Dreamer to fight for grooming rights.

Of course, distracted as he was, Dreamer quickly lost and was subjected to the humiliating treatment in front of his friend, his sire– _father_, and his childhood crush, never mind they had no idea of his identity. If he didn't look at them, he could pretend they were politely looking away. Well, at the very least he wouldn't betray his horrified expression.

He tried to protest – through involuntary and embarrassing sounds – at the extra detail partway through a meticulous cleaning of his wing-shoulders, but received several swift bats to the head. It was almost as if–… _Ooooh, you rotten dragon._ He glared at Wanderer and received a fierce and very _toothy_ grin in response.

This meant war.

* * *

Payback was to be expected, and Wanderer was ready for it. He eyed the fish laying on the stone before him; Dreamer had fetched it and was now watching with very suspicious excitement.

Wanderer sniffed at it and, finding nothing out of the ordinary, snapped it up. He was ready for false-jokes too. _Mmmrrr_, he'd missed fish so much, they felt much better in his belly than all the heavy land-prey they had been eating.

"I get more!" shouted Dreamer a little too eagerly and went to leave.

Wanderer chuffed, "I come." Dreamer shrugged at him, and they were off.

They glided to one of the strange Long-Paw dens where Dreamer did something to the wall and the mouth of the den opened. Wanderer was waiting for the joke but Dreamer bounded inside, loudly calling out "Fish! Fish!" and bouncing around, so he followed.

He'd never been in a Long-Paw den before. It smelled heavily of many of them and smoke, and all manner of strange things were piled up against – and even hanging on – the walls. Despite the cold outside it was comfortably warm.

Dreamer continued chirping and bouncing around in circles until there was a sound of movement above them. Then everything happened at once. As Wanderer looked up, Dreamer bounced _off him_ and sent him sprawling on the floor, and a _click_ sounded behind him right as a matching sound came from above – the den-mouth closing behind him, and another one opening above him.

A Long-Paw voice spoke _curious_ and _wonder_, but Wanderer ignored it to growl at the now closed den-mouth. The Long-Paw voice changed to _safe_ and _protect_ as its owner, the large young Long-Paw that he recalled had flown with them in that awful nest-fight, descended a sort of jagged slope. Wanderer realised he'd just played right into Dreamer's claws, who was laughing so hard outside he could barely claw and bat the den-mouth to feign danger.

_No no no no_ this wasn't happening! He leapt at the den-mouth to investigate the part that opened it but could make no sense of it. "Dreamer!" he barked but was swiftly scooped into a firm embrace and carried away with reassuring rumblings. He could only watch in horror as another den-mouth closed behind him.

He was placed on a soft raised surface where he sat numbly while the light in the room grew. Okay, _think_. It was unlikely he could communicate enough to explain the situation, but he tried anyway with the predicted result. Hurting the Long-Paw was out of the question except for if he felt threatened, and while he hardly felt safe right now he trusted Dreamer wouldn't put him in any danger.

When the Long-Paw reached out to him he growled, and the paw withdrew with _understanding_ and _protection_. Grrr, what was it going to take?

A round flat thing was set in front of him and his frills perked up. On it, among some of the plants that the Long-Paws liked to eat, was a whole smoky-smelling fish and a hunk of land-prey on the bone. The smells had Wanderer's stomach clawing at him. Delicately, he picked up the fish with his teeth and swallowed it whole. The flat-thing wasn't removed so he picked up the meaty bone and carried it to the hard floor where he wouldn't lose any scraps, and held it down in his claws to tear off shreds with his teeth.

While he was gnawing off the gristle on the end, the circular thing was offered to him again with a questioning sound. He gave it a sniff and used his tongue to scoop up a few leaves that smelled like they had some flavour, more to humour the Long-Paw than to supplement his diet, and returned to his bone. Infuriatingly it was too strong for him to crack it open for its marrow, but trying put a pleasant pressure to his teeth.

The Long-Paw was studying a thing Wanderer recognised, a small squared object that had many markings on the many surfaces inside it, the same one Dreamer had brought to their cove for every visit. A separate one received some new scribbles, then the Long-Paw was rifling through a bundle of prey-skin. _What now…?_

Bone forgotten, his eyes went wide and glazed over as an impossibly sweet smell hit his nose. Some of that special grass was being offered to him, and he tried to resist it, but when it was spread on the ground in front of him he couldn't help putting his nose to it. The rest of him followed.

He came to his senses some time later and groggily stumbled away from the blissful patch, but didn't make it far before he was bundled up again. His head was too foggy to fight it or the gentle pulls and nudges over his body, and the comforting and curious Long-Paw rumbles had never really stopped.

As soon as something touched his neck, however soft, he was instantly alert and darting back onto the soft-ground with a warning growl at the Long-Paw to not overstep the trust it'd earned. _Submission, safe, respect_ the Long-Paw said with sounds and body, and Wanderer let the growl die.

_Curiosity_ he said with his nose as he approached the Long-Paw. He'd never properly interacted with any other than Dreamer, and there were many differences between him and this one. Wanderer sniffed the foreleg proffered to him – it was almost bigger than he was! – and, careful with his claws on the fragile hide, walked onto it.

The foreleg barely flexed at his weight, to his surprise there was only a moderate layer of fat over the surprisingly firm muscle. Wanderer continued up to perch delicately on the shoulder, using his tail to correct his wobbles as the furs under his claws slid back and forth. He prodded the Long-Paw's cheek with a paw, there was _no way_ its jaws were that strong, but found only soft fat. How very strange, it was like it was camouflaging its strength.

It was only fair after all, and the Long-Paw only voiced a mild surprised complaint when Wanderer stuck his nose in its ear and down the opening in the fur at the back of its neck. Satisfied and now bored, he jumped down and scratched at the den-mouth, staring _pleading_ at the Long-Paw. Surely it wasn't going to keep him here forever…?

With a noise of acceptance that was only slightly begrudged, he was let out into the den proper, then_ finally_ out into the chill night.

For a moment he just beat the air with his wings and felt it streak down his body, revelling having his freedom returned, but then his eyes narrowed and his claws flexed. _That runt will pay for that,_ he thought darkly, scanning the ground and plotting what he hoped would be excruciatingly embarrassing scenarios.

Several long laps of the nest later, on both wing and paw, he slumped in the air. The Long-Paw nest was just too _foreign_ to him to properly understand, Dreamer could be anywhere.

_Bark!_

Or, he could be gliding back to their new den in the strange ledge on the cliff. The timing was too close to Wanderer giving up on the hunt, _crafty Dreamer_, so he switched his chosen plot for one a little more severe that he'd come up with earlier.

Wanderer swooped in behind him, only just now recognising the rock-hole; the same place he'd blasted into to save his Dreamer from a Firescale. That must have been a whole cycle ago now, though it didn't feel it, time seemed to move slower in this little body.

As he landed, Dreamer chirped happily from their den, lounging on one of many boulders that had been scattered around. Wanderer approved, it gave them a measure of shelter in the otherwise open den, but for now he had other priorities.

He would not disrespect the joke by brushing it off; he had to admit it had been clever. As he approached, he let the broadly grinning Dreamer know every mote of his antipathy in a fierce glare.

"How was?" Dreamer asked casually. He sniggered when Wanderer's only response was to silently finish his approach and sit slowly in front of him, maintaining the glare. "You not seem much bad, you fed, –" he warbled and his eyes widened, dropping from the rock he padded closer, "smell _very good_…"

Dreamer purred loudly and made to rub himself against Wanderer – _rrmm, the sweet-grass_ – but got shoved away, looking dejected.

"Y–… Yes. Rrmm, need know. What word for when hatchling small? More small than others in nest."

Wanderer winced, recalling his earlier thought, then muttered, "Runt."

Dreamer nodded. "That my Long-Paw name."

Wings and tail audibly slapped the ground in Wanderer's disbelief and shock, and Dreamer continued.

"Sort of. Word for… strange backward cough Long-Paws do. But name mean runt." He nodded again, then _finally_ had the decency to look abashed about it.

Wanderer was completely and utterly speechless. Could Long-Paws not take a new name? What had his sire and dam been _thinking_? Well, not a lot at all when it came to his sire, that much had been quite clear long ago…

"I tell you, we even. No jokes while nest new." Dreamer held out a paw.

Wanderer picked himself off the ground and straightened, but wasn't sure what to do with the paw. He huffed, this must be a strange Long-Paw ritual, and instead chose to shake his head and declare "Truce."

"Truce," Dreamer repeated, then took a step forward. "Why sad?" Wanderer suddenly couldn't look at him, the guilt building in his heart. He'd hoped the initial shock had masked it, but… "What, because I still runt?"

Wanderer lowered himself to the ground and _forced_ himself to look at Dreamer. He shouldn't hide from this. Dreamer sighed and looked at the sky-sparks above. "I runt Long-Paw, I runt Nightstriker. Not care."

"My fault," Wanderer gasped. "It my fault. Nightstriker not make new life, new seed, without mate. We are same body."

Looking back at him, Dreamers eyes widened a little in understanding. "This…" he gestured to himself, "Wanderer body?"

"Yes." Wanderer could practically read the question on him. "You smaller because… I not find enough food… when you hatchling." He lowered his nose to the ground, looking up at Dreamer to beg forgiveness. "I gave some, but still needed hunt, needed strength. I got strong, you…"

"No sire, no dam…" Dreamer's eyes were flicking around, it was just like those days when refining the not-tail-fin after they crashed. He would always come back with a better not-fin afterwards.

Then the breath left Wanderer's chest as Dreamer crashed into him, purring _love, happy, friend-mate,_ and _grateful._ "No thing for forgive. But," he stepped back and narrowed his eyes, "you say I weak?"

"No!" Wanderer scratched and barked hurriedly, bouncing upright.

Dreamer laughed and made to lick him, but Wanderer suddenly remembered the sweet-grass and pulled back. "Eat sweet-grass not good for fledglings."

"Sweet-grass?" Dreamer purred, rubbing himself against Wanderer, then his ears perked. "Grass in field we crash into!" He made to take off, but Wanderer threw a wing in front of him.

"_Dangerous_. Not think straight when smell sweet-grass." With a tease and a smirk, he added "Ask that Long-Paw for some."

Dreamer hunched a little. "You think… I should tell them? Tell them… _me_?"

Tensing, Wanderer looked at Dreamer in alarm, but then drooped. "I not know them. I starve you because I not trust them. I trust you." This didn't seem to be the answer Dreamer wanted to hear, so he added, "What _you_ think when you know?"

It was Dreamer's turn to stiffen in alarm, and Wanderer looked at him pointedly until he nodded slowly. "Not tell them…"

_Now he's all gloomy again_, Wanderer sighed to himself. _Wwrr, just this once…_ He sidled up and brushed his cheek, where the sweet-grass had rubbed most, against Dreamer's nose, smirking at seeing his eyes glaze over. Its effect was somewhat weaker like this, but the warmth of his body made the smell much stronger.

He stopped pushing the effect back and let it soothe his own mind, and they rolled around happily in the deserted ring.

* * *

Stoick managed a brisk walk to the kill-ring-turned-stables, though he had to stop himself from jogging a few times.

He wasn't entirely sure why he was so captivated by the little dragons, he looked at the others seeing only pets and tools, but these little shadows were… catching somewhere in his chest. Maybe… maybe this was his way of keeping his son's memory, his legacy, alive. Maybe this was Odin sending him a sign to let go of the past.

Thus he found himself, for the first time since spring, strolling in the pre-dawn light. A bucket of fish hung from his hand, with a whole year free of dragon attacks they found themselves with almost more food than they knew what to do with, even while – now properly – feeding four active and hungry dragons.

He was a little startled when he entered the ring to find boulders, some the size of sheep, strewn through the Night Fury stable. Where had they come from? More importantly, they blocked his view of the stable, were the little Night Furies even in there?

Each step toward the dark alcove was less certain than the last, an internal struggle trying to hold him back. As he crossed the centre of the ring it won him over with the simple argument that these were _wild_ dragons, it would be all too easy to scare them away by just invading their space. Deciding to wait until the sun fully breached the horizon, he turned back to the entrance – and froze. Four green eyes were staring at him from the shadows.

He could hear sounds from the darkness, but they weren't directed at him. _At each other?_ No, that couldn't be right.

Stoick did the most non-aggressive thing he could think of, and sat down. With a high, quiet trill one of them stalked from the shadows, and the second larger one followed. He now recognised the smaller one as the one he'd housed for that night, seeing the light scabbing on its forehead, and it happily bounded up to and around him before pinching a fish from the bucket, but the second one had stopped and was giving a low warning growl.

What was he doing wrong? He tried racking his brain for an answer but was distracted by the smaller one nudging his hand. It looked him in the eye then at his head. _My head…?_ He brought his hand up and felt his helmet – sudden recollections of Hiccup's display with the Monstrous Nightmare in this very ring came to mind, and he snatched it off and sent it sliding away; though not nearly as offensively as Hiccup had done.

This apparently wasn't enough, and the little one was now staring at his waist. _My knife!?_ How did they even know about that? Stoick had forgotten about it himself. It struck him as unfair that they could keep their teeth and claws while he couldn't even have a little knife, but he calmly undid his coat enough to reach in and pull the knife free. The growling intensified a little until he tossed it aside.

The larger one calmed instantly, going back to a cute baby dragon, though it looked towards the smaller dragon and grumbled. The little one burbled back, and received a snort. _No, they couldn't possibly be talking…_

Stoick took a fish from the bucket, shooing away the smaller one, and tossed it across the arena. His aim was a little off from being sat on his bum but the dragon leaped forward to catch it and swallowed it whole. Alternating tossing a fish between the two, he counted down until he had two left, which he held out to be taken. The smaller one did so eagerly, the larger one more warily.

In the early morning light, this was the first good look Stoick had got at either. They must be siblings, one older than the other, and were true to Toothless' form; lean and sleek with flat heads and matte near-black scales. Though they currently lacked size he knew they would grow to be fearsome and deadly beasts, and the Chief in him was ecstatic at having that power nest here on Berk.

The younger one stepped onto Stoick's leg and allowed him to pet it, purring and moving to put his hand on its favourite spots. Its scales were smooth but surprisingly soft, almost leathery. He was almost convinced it _was_ leather, it was hard to tell with his calloused hands, but whoever heard of a dragon without scales? Save Gobber and his crazy stories, of course.

He held out a hand to the older one, but it only sniffed and bumped it with its snout. The smaller one grumbled and the two had what could only be described as a conversation, though Stoick wasn't prepared to accept they had actual _language_ just yet.

That was, right up until the bigger one cringed, then looked into Stoick's eyes with a calculating stare that bored straight through him. All doubts fled his mind. Whatever he thought of the other beasts, these dragons were undoubtedly highly intelligent. More intelligent than half the village, maybe more so than Stoick himself. Perhaps, almost as intelligent as…

"Oh Hiccup…" he whispered. "'Saw yourself' indeed. I'm… so sorry…" He bowed his head, not bothering to wipe his face, and was a little startled when he felt a leathery head under his sagging hand.

Then he was sat with a tiny Night Fury draped over each leg, both purring as he stroked them; a surreal experience. That was how he was found by Fishlegs, who announced himself by dropping the bucket he'd been cradling. It hit the stone ground with the expected crash, spilling fish and startling the two Furies to their feet.

The older one chittered to the younger and yawned widely, then they both disappeared between the rocks in their stable.

"Oh of course, they're nocturnal! I'm such an _idiot_," Fishlegs exclaimed to himself, oblivious to the glare he was getting. He picked up the bucket of fish, and Stoick left it by the Night Fury stable then retrieved his helmet and knife. As they walked back towards the village Stoick found himself almost interested in the conversation with Fishlegs, though the boy pouted when he waved off the request to recount the events in more detail.

"And they knew you had a knife under your coat?" Fishlegs asked.

"Aye, I'd forgotten about it myself. I'm not sure I _want_ to know."

"Actually, it was probably their acute sense of smell. Metal has a smell, we just don't notice it outside of the forge. Heh, you know Hiccup had almost the exact same experience?" Fishlegs cringed, but instead of his usual mood swings at mention of the _H_ word Stoick found himself just looking at the boy in surprise. "Uh, yeah, in his journal he said Toothless knew about his belt knife, though it was hidden under his coat. The smell thing was his theory. Oh Thor, we are just so _lucky_ he left such detailed notes! They'll be even more helpful with these new additions. In fact, I'm going to read over them all again today."

"Alright. Don't worry about bringing them fish tomorrow, I'll get it."

Fishlegs gave him a sidelong look, as far as their height difference allowed. "Sir, if you want them to like you, I've got something _much_ better…"

* * *

Dreamer groaned as the veil of sleep lifted, then untangled from the stirring Wanderer and gave himself a shake. He glanced at the stone pit outside their little boulder-den, and tentatively asked the dreaded question. "How bad was it?"

Wanderer just snickered. That wasn't a good sign. He remembered clearly right up until he'd shoved his face into the fat wad of grass his sire had offered him, but everything after that was hazy. He'd had his belly in the air a lot… _Oh man did I really chew his fingers…_ All topped off by Wanderer dragging him – still on his back – into the den, where he didn't so much fall asleep as pass out.

_Wellp, living here has been nice while it lasted_. He rubbed his forehead into the nearest rock, hoping to grind the memories to powder.

Wanderer nudged him on the way past, then pranced in front of him. "Fly!"

That sounded like an excellent idea to help take his mind off things, and they disappeared into the dark sky. He followed Wanderer, easily able to make him out this close in the light of the sky-sparks twinkling above. They ascended into a near vertical climb, Dreamer copying and learning Wanderer's movements and how he cupped the air with his wings. Up and up they went, long past the point Dreamer's wings started aching from exertion.

When his burning wings could climb no further he barked wearily at Wanderer, and together they gracefully leaned back and arced into a dive. Berk tilted into view far below them, though they weren't nearly as high as they'd gone when he'd flown on Wanderer. It was still exhilarating to be held up so high by nothing other than flesh and muscle, especially now that it was his own.

Below, the green torches dotting Berk were more than enough light to see by, and even at this distance he could make out the wood panels of the buildings. He heard Wanderer's whistle build, drowning out his own struggling rasp, though it was still shrill and nothing like the chilling screech of an adult Nightstriker. _Yeah, still weird to think I'll do that one day_.

The sound was letting him know exactly where Wanderer was, Dreamer could follow him with his eyes closed – and did, for a short time, just for the fun of it. Perhaps that was the reason for it, to stop Furies crashing into each other while flying at high speeds in the dark. _Which would mean…_ Night Furies weren't solo creatures! It was so obvious now, Toothless had been desperate for companionship, even in a nest full of other dragons.

Dreamer had so many questions for when they landed.

For now, Berk were getting close. Dreamer slid over into Wanderer's slipstream for a bit of extra speed to pull up next to him, and they looked into each other's eye with _glee_.

This was of course no time for challenges or daring; failing to pull up would result in certain death, and Dreamer was nowhere near comfortable with his limits for that kind of game. They did pull up close enough that several villagers still wandering the streets ducked reflexively and exclaimed at the sound.

As they reached the docks, a flick of their tails had them soaring back up towards the sky-sparks above. Here, in _both_ of his elements – darkness for the Nightstriker, and home for the Viking – he let out a happy shout that was echoed by Wanderer. Freefalling up was still the best.

Much later, when they alighted with heaving chests on a ridge near the peak of Berk's spire, the questions started burning again in Dreamer's mind. He was barely able to wait to catch his breath. "Where Wanderer from?"

"South, where it warmer, long-days not so long." Wanderer shivered and added "This not good place for Nightstrikers. Too much light, too much cold."

"No Nightstrikers here? Just us?" Wanderer shook a _yes_. "Why you here?"

"Needed get away from nest… Not my choice, I… too young, barely fireling. Flew far, to these cold small-lands."

"Where you find… big-big-wing-hunter-thing."

"Yes. I find that _queen_, not have want for break free. I too young, think maybe more Nightstrikers follow. In egg-season, when old enough for want, I roamed, but always go back. Thought was best chance. Now I think I wrong." He gave Dreamer an inscrutable look. "Now I have friend. One night, when we old enough, we fly south."

"This my home!" Dreamer cried worriedly. "No can leave!"

"_Stupid_," Wanderer snorted_._ "Say again in four warm-seasons, when you get fire. All firelings want leave nest."

Dreamer gaped at him. _Four years!?_ They would be almost defenceless until then. He stopped and chastised himself for the very dragon thought, they wouldn't need to fight for food or den here. _Besides, we have teeth and claws…_

"Before ninth cold-season you start–" and Dreamer went very still at the word Wanderer said with a double motion of his hindquarters. Apparently misinterpreting his blank expression, he went on to clarify, "Interest in–"

"YES I get," Dreamer hurriedly cut him off. It wasn't like he could court Astrid like this, but the thought of courting a dragon? Nope, nope, nope. _Say again in eight warm-seasons,_ echoed Wanderer's voice in the back of his head. Nope nope nope _nope_.

They sat in silence for a time, splaying out their wings to rest them. Dreamer's thoughts were wandering when there was a nudge on his chin. "Why you sad?"

Oh. He hadn't even realised he was moping. "Just thinking… Want be in Long-Paw nest, but we sleep at light, they sleep at night."

Wanderer snorted again. "_Stupid_. We just sleep at night."

Dreamer resisted the urge to hit his head on the rock. Barely.

* * *

Fishlegs had only ever seen this trick done once on the Terrible Terror, which had flown off the moment they released it, but Hiccup's detailed notes and _amazing_ illustrations definitely reported its effect on the Night Fury. Stifling a giggle, he tilted the polished coin to wave its reflection around the training ring and watched the young Night Fury scrabble after it. The smaller one watched from the side, tail intermittently waving in the air and chortling as the bigger one tried to take turns too quickly and fell over himself.

_"_Ooh, you think that's funny do you?" Fishlegs mumbled and surreptitiously moved the dot closer. With a devious flick he had him looking the other direction while the bigger one pounced at the dot on his back.

Stoick allowed a short chuckle next to him, but while it had been very funny Fishlegs was more interested in the little altercation between them that followed. "I think you're right Chief, those little guys are definitely talking to each other. Ooooh isn't this exciting? I wonder if _all_ the dragons can talk, though we've never observed _anything_ like this…" The little Fury was glaring at him now.

"Tell you what… I need to get going, but I'll get Astrid and Stormfly. We should really introduce the other dragons and let them back into their stables."

Fishlegs nodded, but his attention was still mostly on the Furies who were now chasing each other. "Huh, you know what, I think the smaller one is a hiccup."

Stoick, who had just turned to leave, rounded on him. "Come again?" he growled.

"Well I mean look at them, everything other than their size puts them at the same level of development, they've _gotta_ be the same age. And we _do_ need names for them, can't keep calling them 'big Fury' and 'little Fury'."

Stoick calmed with a sigh. "Alright then, I'll think about it."

Astrid glided in a short time later and, after briefly conferring with Fishlegs, removed Stormfly's harness and walked her through the gate. Fishlegs followed; it was unlikely there would be any problems – especially given the reports of their first meeting – but it often paid to be careful.

"What are you gonna call them?" Astrid asked casually, watching Stormfly croon and nuzzle the little dragons. When it had been absolutely clear there was no need for worry, they'd taken a seat on a bench at the edge of the ring.

"Stoick's thinking about it, but I think we should name the little one Hiccup." He tried not to shy away from the storm suddenly brewing beside him. "Well, he _is_ one, I'm positive these two are the same age. And, not the worst way to be remembered, having the one of the rarest, most _lethal_ and _fearsome_ dragons named after you."

Astrid huffed. "You've seen his notes and drawings more than anyone, Toothless was an overgrown puppy. Well, except when I threw Hiccup to the ground and dropped my axe on him, then it was like a _fire-breathing_ _bear_ and I was attacking its cub. Thor, what was _wrong_ with me?"

Fishlegs felt it wisest to not comment on that. They watched the two Night Furies run back to their stable, jump on and around the boulders, then run back to Stormfly and nuzzle her. "Oh, you had Stormfly fill their stable with boulders? We were trying to work out how they got there. What made you do that?"

"Uhhh, _why_ would I do that? You're the dragon expert. Wait, _Stormfly_ did it?"

"Hmm…" Fishlegs carefully edged his way to the mouth of the stable to examine the nearest rock, then made his way back and dropped back onto the bench. "The claw marks are definitely that of a Nadder, and I'm pretty sure they were just thanking her."

"You don't think… _they_ asked her!?" Astrid exclaimed incredulously. "But–…"

"I know! Isn't it exciting!? To think dragons might actually have a language, and can–…" He turned to stare deadpan at her. "I'm going to learn it."

She laughed. "You _would_. Well if anyone can, it's you Fishlegs. Well… you and…"

Fishlegs pulled her into a quick platonic hug. "Yeah, him too, I know. We _all_ miss him, Astrid. Even Snotlout and the twins. Hey, speaking of, how did you keep them away? I expected them days ago."

"Oh, I just pointed out to everyone _else_ what might happen if any of those three made it here. Not everyone is a dragon lover, but enough are eager for a Night Fury like their beloved hero." She cracked a rare smile. "I think someone convinced Snotlout to take Hookfang and fend for himself for a few days as some bogus rite of passage. Gobber gave the twins an old map…"

The conversation died as the smaller Night Fury made his way towards them, curiosity on his face. "_Axe,_" Fishlegs whispered at Astrid and she quickly disarmed. This seemed to please the little Fury and he bounded over, indeed looking every bit a puppy.

Astrid held her hand down for him to sniff, then invited him up to the bench next to her. "Aww, aren't you just the _cutest_ _little thing?_" she babied, scratching behind his ears while he made happy noises.

Fishlegs was taken for a moment too, before remembering his commitment and fumbling for his notebook. Skipping ahead to a new section he started taking notes, just whatever he could write down at this point, he'd sort it out later.

"Yeck! No kisses!" Astrid laughed, wiping slobber from her face and trying to hold the licky dragon away. He gave up and stepped into her lap, heedless of the spikes, and tried to stick his nose into Fishlegs' book.

"Hey, I'm–… You know what…" Fishlegs flipped back to one of the sketches of Toothless he'd copied from Hiccup's journal.

Big green eyes lit up in recognition as he studied the drawing. "This dragon's name was Toothless," he told the fledgling, "he lost a good friend, we all did, but he took it the worst. He disappeared near the end of Winter. Given the timing, I'd bet he's your father, but if you're here and he's not… He wasn't in the best shape when he left…"

The little dragon warbled at him, so Fishlegs scratched him under the chin. "Maybe I'm wrong and he'll come back. I hope I'm wrong."

"You realise it can't understand you, right?" Astrid scratched between the Fury's wings and grinned as he stretched out across the both of them.

"_He_ might not understand the words, but animals imprint to voices, and I'm beginning to suspect a lot of their language is based on tone–" Fishlegs jumped and _nearly_ stifled a scream as a black shape appeared over his other leg, causing both dragons to jump back and Astrid to hiss in pain. "Sorry little guys," he said softly, "didn't see you sneaking up like that, where did you even come from?"

Astrid was holding her side, and the dragon on her lap stepped off and held his head low, looking up at her with big dilated eyes. Fumbling again at his notebook, Fishlegs got back to the right page and hastily scribbled a crude drawing, though his sight was quickly blocked by Stormfly checking over Astrid for the source of her distress. Thankfully just a light scratch.

There was soon more to scribble down though as Stormfly turned to the little Night Fury and made chittering and tutting sounds. Fishlegs had _so many_ questions, foremost being how the two species understood each other with such different 'voices', but however daunting the task seemed now he was determined to answer them all.

* * *

"Alright guys, meet Toothy and Hiccup." Astrid calmly moved ahead to greet the Night Furies and put them at ease before letting everyone crowd around.

"Hiccup!?" exclaimed Snotlout.

"Toothy?" questioned Ruffnut at the same time.

"Aye, Toothy," Stoick rumbled, talking over Fishlegs' mild and resigned protests. "Needed to set the record straight, after all." He was clearly very proud of the name he'd come up with. It was amazing, looking at the change in him over the last week, his eyes looked _alive_, and to Astrid it was obvious he was eating and sleeping much better. She knew her sudden tutelage had been as much to establish succession as it was to allow him time and space to grieve, but until now it was like it hadn't been really helping. _Gee, I wonder what brought this on_, she thought with a warm smile.

"And yes, Hiccup," Fishlegs explained matter-of-factly, "they are actually the same age, it's _obvious_ by their level of development." He grinned sideways at Ruffnut as if this was the most obvious thing on Midgard, but lost his composure at the estranged look she gave him back. "Uh, yeah, anyway he's a hiccup," he finished lamely.

"I like it!" announced Tuffnut loudly. "It's bold, it's subtle, it's a TRIBUTE to our fallen hero! Also, maybe, a little on the nose, wait, dragons don't have noses, a little on the snout? Anyway, what were we talking about again?"

"I dunno," Ruffnut cooed softly, "but these guys are _adorable…!_ Come 'ere, little guy…"

Having been sat down by Fishlegs, who stood off to the side, the three were approached warily but curiously by Hiccup and Toothy. Astrid watched the Furies' long tails sweep across the ground, suddenly struck by how much they were trusting her to turn their backs. She was the Chief's aide and successor, and – mostly – had the respect and trust of the village, but this felt somehow deeper, more primal.

Toothy went to Tuffnut and they started playing, while Hiccup received scritches and rubs from Ruffnut. Snotlout folded his arms and grumbled for a moment, but then contented himself by sidling up to Ruffnut to dote over Hiccup as well.

"Hey Chief?" Tuffnut called back to Stoick, who was just turning to leave. "You said his name was Toothy?"

"What of it?"

"Yeah, gonna have to disagree with you there…" he said slowly. As he stood up, bringing Toothy with him, Astrid saw what he was talking about. She could only sit there with her mouth open while he turned around to show Stoick the dragon playfully _gumming_ his arm.

Stoick's expression was _priceless_.

* * *

Dreamer sat on one of the many cliffs in the village proper, ignoring the pre-dawn chill biting through his scales.

_A year ago._ It was exactly a year ago, close to the minute, that he'd stood in this very spot and fired that bola that changed everything, that somehow resulted in all that had happened. He knew it was now because Fishlegs had told him before coaxing him and Wanderer into the Great Hall at the start of the night for a recount of Hiccup's Saga. The promise of a feast had been too tempting for either Night Fury to resist, and they'd stuffed themselves silly with all manner of meats.

What Dreamer had been able to make out had all been surprisingly accurate, pieced together from his journal and by the efforts of the teens and every Skald on Berk. Thankfully he'd not documented their first real flight in much detail, so that _particular_ misadventure was only mentioned in passing to lead up to his epiphany with the Terrors. He had only been made the fool once or twice, his deeds had otherwise been recalled in great esteem. Even eating the raw regurgitated fish, though he regretted recording that nonetheless.

The brief mention of the anguish faced by both Stoick and Toothless, what Hiccup had not lived through, had been heart-breaking, but he had succeeded in his plight. The dragon raids completely stopped and, with Astrid stepping up as an impromptu Chief-in-training, the island had prospered. All the dragons at the nest were liberated, and Hiccup himself had spent near three seasons living as a Night Fury, now back in his village unbeknownst to everyone.

All the result of a chance shot into the dark. _With my eyes closed,_ he remembered wryly.

Footsteps brought him out of his reverie, and he warbled a greeting at his father before he was stepped on.

"Toothy? …Hiccup?"

He gave a low bark at his name; weren't the gods in _fits_ about _that_, it had followed him even after he'd shed it. The whole series of events felt like a big joke by Loki. Would he wake up tomorrow as a Viking boy again? And wouldn't that be the cream on the cake.

…That was it wasn't it? He was so accepting of this form because he was far happier now as Hiccup the Night Fury than he'd ever been as Hiccup the Useless. His father wasn't constantly setting impossible expectations and getting disappointed when he failed to meet them, he wasn't the butt of every joke, and people actually _wanted_ him around, to say nothing of his inconceivably deep friendship with Wanderer.

Despite everything anyone had done to him however, he could only be angry at himself, at his old self, while simultaneously knowing that doing anything different would not have resulted in the peace they now had.

It made him want to scream out over the ocean.

"He tried to tell me, but I didn't listen." The solemn voice made him jump a little, he'd forgotten his father had sat down next to him. The quiet, level tone was surprisingly easy to understand in the open air, and his father was speaking slowly, though Dreamer supposed his familiarity with the voice played a part. "He used one of his contraptions, from right there, to do what no one else could do in over three hundred years.

"I _never_ listened. All I had to do was hear him _once_, and he'd still be here." There was a great sniffle and a long silence. "It's selfish. We would have killed that Night Fury, or never forced it to reveal itself. We'd still be getting raided, but he'd still be _here_.

"Of course, he's in Valhalla now, feasting with Thor himself. I should be happy for him. I just… Listening to his saga, that dragon probably knew him better than the rest of us put together. What if Toothless couldn't follow him? Odin wouldn't separate them, would he? And Hiccup never was much like a Viking, what if he doesn't even _like_ Valhalla? What if they won't take him to the great forges of Svartalfheim, where he would truly be happy?"

_Oh, so _now_ he cares,_ Dreamer thought bitterly, but couldn't muster any real feeling behind it. All he saw was a father, grieving the loss of his son and the last of his immediate family, and a man with the same conundrum as he; even if he _could_ change anything, _should_ he?

Despite the lack of light and writing material, it felt it would be so easy to just reach out and draw the runes. Tell his father he was happy and healthy, not to worry, and that he loved him.

_Dark dragon magic_… No, he couldn't. There was no way to know how he'd react, even with this newfound empathy. Dreamer wasn't sure Stoick would ever be able to accept his son even was a dragon, let alone accept him _as_ one. He might; he might also exile him out of fear, or take wild and drastic measures trying to change him back. It simply wasn't worth the risk, for either of them.

So Dreamer stood up to look his father in the eye – he had to stand on the giant man's knee – and crooned softly, trying to put all his reassurance and love into that stare, mere paw-lengths from his face.

The air audibly left the man's chest, and then Hiccup was gently pulled into a firm embrace as his father simultaneously laughed and wept. All Hiccup could think was that he was _finally_ making a connection with his dad in the best way possible, like they'd done in his early memories, and he purred that happiness into the thick beard.

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_I had a lot of fun writing several scenes in this chapter, particularly the one in the cove and the one at the end =P_

_Speaking of, Hiccup's decision not to tell anyone, particularly his father, is one of the many little things I wanted to see that gave me the inspiration to write this. However, let me be clear in that his decision here is heavily influenced by having time to consider that choice and by talking it over first. In other fics he does not get that luxury, in which case it would be completely in character to announce himself to the nearest person._

_So yes, while that is a bit of a cheeky nod at Brothers of Night in the last scene, I consider the difference a product of circumstance._

_As always, let me know what you think ^_^_


	4. Maelstrom

_Thank you so much for the comments so far, particularly some here on FFN have been very helpful and inspiring, and it's very fun to read your thoughts on the story as it progresses =)_

* * *

"I know, I'll miss you too. Don't talk to any strange dragons, and have fun doing whatever it is you guys do out there..." Tuffnut grinned and wrapped his arms around Belch's head, suddenly pressed to his chest as it was, then watched as the dragon took wing to join the flock passing Berk some way out to sea.

"Where do you suppose they go?" Ruffnut wondered next to him.

Tuffnut put his hand on his sister's shoulder. "I'm thinking some place warm, with lots of fish. Maybe some hot tubs, a nice salon, fresh drinks. Gotta beat hanging around here when the storms hit."

"Cheh, you got that right. So, what, we got about a week before then?"

"Well, if my hypothesis is correct, and it is, we can estimate the start of the storms based on the dragons depature. Last year, they were six days apart…"

Ruffnut punched him. "You're so _dumb_ when you try sounding smart."

"Hey, leave me alone. I'm sad, alright? I'm stuck with _you_ for three months and no Belch to take the edge off."

"Moron."

"Yak breath!"

"Toad slime!"

"Enough, you two!" Astrid appeared behind them to knock their helmeted heads together hard enough that Tuffnut saw stars. Woah, that was a good one, he'd have to remember she had a good arm for that when he was next in the mood for a good clobbering. Still staggering, he noticed four… no, two figures watching the flock from one of the cliffs overlooking the ocean. "Uh, the Furies not going too?" The world tilted the wrong way and he fell over. That had been a _really_ good head-knocking. She must be upset about Stormfly, normally she held back more than that.

"Huh, guess not," Fishlegs said mildly, with an undertone of sadness but a touch of excitement. Hah, if he thought the Furies were going to lick his feet he had another thing coming. Besides, Meatlug's tongue was bone dry, but Night Fury saliva was a gift from Loki himself. Now if only they could figure out how to get a jar of it…

"Hooookfaaaaang!" The desperate cry was followed by an equally desperate Viking bolting down the village on stubby little legs. Stumbling to a halt next to Astrid, Snotlout wheezily leaned on his knees. "Did… did I miss him?"

Astrid rolled her eyes. "You idiot, we told you this would be happening soon. They're gone." Yeah, she was definitely upset.

Snotlout groaned, laced with a bit of a growl. "It's not my fault! Dad _insisted_ I train with him in the forest, and he does _not_ take no for an answer!"

Tuffnut smirked as he climbed to his feet. "Since when do _you_ listen to authority? I mean, what's he going to do, take Hookfang away?" Snotlout _did_ growl at that, he was always so much fun to tease even if he made it too easy.

"_Please_ tell me he at least wasn't wearing his saddle…" Astrid's demeanour said Snotlout would be _rowing_ after the flock if he was.

"Uh, yeah, I'm not an _idiot_. I made sure to remove it after every flight."

Ruffnut scoffed. "What are you even worried about? He'd just claw it off anyway, isn't this his third saddle or something?"

"_Fourth_, if I recall correctly," Tuffnut mused. "Hey, remember what Gobber said he'd do to you if you lost another one? Oh man, I'd trade my favourite mace to see that." Snotlout's paled expression said he did indeed remember, and to be fair to him he hadn't lost a saddle in the five months since.

The silence stretched out.

"…Sooo… Now what…"

Hmm, Ruffnut had a point. With a whole year of dragon-aided pranks behind them, going back to regular pranks felt kind of lame. Like having to sail somewhere after flying on dragon back. Man, everything was just better with dragons. "Hey, let's play with the Furies. Help take our minds off how much winter sucks."

"Unlike you guys I actually have things to do." Astrid crossed her arms and stood in her 'look how important I am' pose. "Just, don't crowd them, okay? Fishlegs, keep an eye on them will you?"

"It's fine," Tuffnut waved her off, "look, see? Toothy! Hiccy!" He crouched low, tapped his knees and bounced on the spot. "You wanna play? You wanna play?"

Toothy and Hiccup swivelled to look at him, then their frills perked out and they dropped into playful stances before running into and around the four dragon-less dragon riders. Tuffnut, still crouched low, reared at the Furies and they stopped bounding around to rear back at him, flaring their wings and growling playfully.

Hiccup darted forward and nipped at his ankle, then repeated for the others. "Ohh, you want to play hide-and-seek do ya? Do ya?" Tuffnut dropped to his hands and knees, bouncing from side to side to mimic Toothy. Hiccup bounded around in a tight circle with a goofy smile on his face, waving his paws in the air between bounces.

"You have way too much energy, you know that?" Astrid rolled her eyes and started to head off.

Tuffnut just grinned at Toothy. "Come on guys, just one game! Ready, go!" He leapt to his feet and grabbed Ruffnut to flee the scene, after several long bounds he glanced over his shoulder to see Fishlegs furtively looking for somewhere to hide and Snotlout overcoming his hesitation to take off at a sprint. The two Furies were laying down and waiting patiently – giving them a head start? _Heh, they'll regret that._ Tuffnut ran with his partner in crime, sharing a look with her that said everything they needed to say.

After a minute had passed, a roar was heard through the village signalling the start of the chase, and the game was on. Fishlegs was the first to go down, being predictably terrible at hiding, and had easily been tracked to behind a nearby building. He screamed as two growling Night Furies tackled him and knocked off his helmet. That set the precedent.

Next to go down was Snotlout, Toothy and Hiccup tracking him at a phenomenal speed and catching up before he could even escape to the main island. He tried to fight back, but was far too slow for the blur that shot around him and up his back to steal his helmet. Toothy laughed as he ran off with his prize in his mouth.

They found Astrid next, though true to her word she wasn't playing and was instead shadowing Stoick, but she congratulated the grumbling dragons for finding her anyway.

Last to go down were the twins. The Furies, tailed by a helmetless Fishlegs and Snotlout, sniffed the bridge to confirm they hadn't left the island, then prowled the paths looking for a scent. It didn't take long to find one. Tuffnut watched with his sister as the pair jogged along after it, then cackled quietly at the confused looks when it traced back to the starting point… and a second time… and a third time…

"I still think we should have gone for the chamber pot," Ruffnut whispered.

"Hey, we _like_ these dragons," Tuffnut whispered back. "Besides, they could follow us to Valhalla with _that_ smell on our feet." He readjusted his stolen boots, they were a bit big but did the job.

"Oooh, that had to hurt," Ruffnut said through a maniacal grin. From the roof of the forge they had a good view of where they'd left their own boots which had just been discovered, and Hiccup had stuck his nose in one. He was now rubbing at his face and rolling around while Toothy laughed at him, and only years of watching pranks unfold from hiding kept Tuffnut from joining in. Eventually, after Hiccup staggered to his feet, they started moving again – "Wait, isn't that the path _we_ took from there?"

"…Uh oh. You're right sis. They're onto us. Time for phase two…"

"What's phase two?"

"Hel if I know. Let's just make it up as we go along." They butted heads – not too loudly – and when Furies caught up all they found were two pairs of stolen shoes.

As the afternoon wore on they had to come up with increasingly complex means of tangling up the their pursuers, until Ruffnut pointed out this wasn't hide-and-seek. It was a _hunt_, and there were no rules in a hunt. Not that they cared much for rules anyway…

It was Ruffnut's plan so she was holding the string they'd rigged up, crouched behind a crate and waiting for the dragons to pass through the street. However, instead of walking into the trap, Toothy and Hiccup paused directly in front of it. "Hah, it's almost like they're talking," Tuffnut whispered.

"Don't be stupid, dragons can't talk," Ruffnut whispered back. "What are they waiting for?" For bait they'd taken off their boots – stolen – and walked barefoot in a circle before donning different pairs of boots – also stolen – that they'd been carrying, but Toothy and Hiccup didn't seem to be falling for it.

And then… they did, and Ruffnut wasted no time in yanking on the string to tip the nearby cartload of apples onto them – a pained cry echoed between the buildings, followed by pitiful and hurt yowls.

"This is your fault!" Tuffnut hissed at his sister as he ducked behind the crate. "It was your idea!"

"What!? It was just a couple of dumb apples!" she hissed back, also dropping low.

They slowly rose again to peer from their hiding place, seeing Fishlegs still searching and Snotlout cradling Toothy – a wing hung limply from his side, and he was whining pitifully. "Oh no, Toothy…" Ruffnut cooed sadly. They could only stare in silence. And then continue staring, because with a _whoosh_ their helmets were swiftly removed by Hiccup gliding over them from behind. He dropped them by Toothy, who stopped whining, folded his wing, and hopped free of a very confused Snotlout.

"Uhh… Bro?"

"Yeah sis?"

"I think we just got Loki'd."

"That we did."

"By a couple of dragons."

"Yep."

"And you're cool with this!?"

"Are you kidding me? That was _awesome!_" His sister didn't like being on the receiving end of pranks, but Tuffnut had a newfound respect for the Night Furies. He kicked off the last pair of stolen boots and strode over to properly congratulate them.

* * *

"I think I like that Long-Paw…"

Dreamer could only murmur his assent as Wanderer shuffled a little closer under the thick – and only slightly smelly – bear pelt. With the cold-season approaching the air carried an icy bite, and to absolutely everyone's astonishment it had been Tuffnut to point out that their small bodies were built more for speed and less for insulation. Well, not so much 'point out' as 'violently berate Fishlegs in the middle of the village' but nonetheless Dreamer was very grateful.

The surprises continued as Tuffnut adopted a sort of guardian role, ensuring they were properly fed, played with, interacted with people but not too much, had bones and rope to chew and play with, and this night he'd found a bone brush that was _just right_ and given them both a thorough dry scrubbing. Fishlegs was certainly the academic authority on dragons, but Tuffnut was somehow able to divine their needs even without them knowing themselves. It was as if he'd been possessed by the spirit of a mother dragon.

He was the only Long-Paw they would allow into their den, because they trusted him to respect what that meant. Fishlegs was mad with envy, especially as Tuffnut would answer almost every question either cryptically or with blithering nonsense, and Ruffnut was fiercely jealous of her brother's time and how much of it he was spending with the Nightstrikers.

This night, however, the cold-season was no longer content to remain tame. It lashed the rocks outside with savage winds, and spiderwebs of frost crept into their den as the night progressed. Even when they retreated their heads to breathe stale but warm air, the rock beneath them slowly sapped away heat and strength.

Fleeting and sluggish thoughts drifted through Dreamer's mind. He realised too late that it was too cold, and he needed to do something, but he was just so tired... _Minimise contact with the ground._ What did he even have to work with? He couldn't work out how he could wrap themselves in the pelt, and he was just _so tired_.

It took all his willpower, but he managed to slowly shuffle around and pull his front onto Wanderer's flank. He kicked his legs under Wanderer's head until he did the same; now only half of each of them, their lower halves, were touching the ground. When light finally graced the sky, Dreamer was numb and somehow more exhausted than before, but he and Wanderer were still breathing. He drifted in limbo, just the thought of moving had his body crying in protest but he was aware of the crunching footsteps approaching.

Someone was in their den, but he couldn't muster the energy to care. He was being moved, it wasn't quite as cold now at least. _Just stop jostling so much…_

Finally, the movement stopped and he was lain on something hard and flat. _More stone_, he faintly registered, cool but not quite as cold. The air entering his lungs was much warmer now though, and a bit smoky. _Fire…_

He was finally drifting off, a dark and very deep sleep beckoning, but something was trying to rouse him. _I just want to sleep…_ He was being pushed, until he rolled over – blissful warmth flared over his body and began to sink through his chilled scales, slowly starting to work its way through his numb muscles. He sighed and shuffled a little to better soak it in, particularly through the bottoms of his paws.

The abyss below him closed, and he shifted sideways into a comfortable doze.

_Huff._ Something was nudging Dreamer's head, trying to wake him. He hadn't noticed the passage of time, but the chill had completely disappeared from his body; if anything, he was now a little warm. He managed to open an eye. Wanderer filled his vision, his big expressive face full of _concern_ and _relief_ even as blurry as it was. Dreamer grumbled weakly when he received another nudge. _Alright, alright, I'm up._

Muscles aching their protest, he got his paws under him and rose shakily, knocking over something next to him with a rustle. He stood for a moment, letting his limbs stretch to the new position, then gingerly tested his joints. It was slow work, but the more he flexed the easier it became.

Awareness was slowly returning too, and his vision was clearing… _Oh._ It hadn't seemed all that bad at the time but there was a small crowd in a hushed relief, and he was… in a fire pit. Literally _in_ it, up to his neck, with burning sticks and logs piled against his sides. He was beginning to realise how tenuous his grip on life had been. Some distant part of his mind was saying the flames licking his flanks should hurt, but they didn't, and he didn't have the strength to scrabble out in a panic anyway. He did manage a few wobbly paces out of the fire before collapsing.

There were Long-Paw sounds above him, but it was ringing in his head and he couldn't make anything out. He did recognise his sire's house. _I really need to stop waking up here like this. What must the neighbours think?_

He and Wanderer were then set up in his old bedroom, snuggled into a cozy nest of blankets on the floor, and Dreamer spent the next few days either asleep or wishing he was asleep. While Fishlegs and Tuffnut did their best to help him they couldn't do much more than ensure he was kept warm and hydrated, but their presence was comforting.

"Is this what like have sire, dam?" he asked Wanderer when he was feeling a bit more lucid. He giggled internally, there was no question who was which.

Wanderer huffed. "Some. Dam wrap you in herself, very safe. Sire strong, fierce, but gentle, play much. Very loving, like Wanderer love Dreamer, but very big, very warm. You think they might win fight against sea." He closed his eyes and hummed quietly in a tone both happy and mournful.

Dreamer had never known his mother, and only had distant memories of just playing with his sire. They'd gone hunting and fishing, but that quickly became boring for a boy with such a strong imagination so he'd always run off to explore, a habit that earned him more and more disdain over the years. He felt that where there should have been protective deities there was a gaping void on one side and a fiery tempest on the other.

On top of that, between Wanderer's words and his actions, it seemed Nightstriker parents were much more loving and attentive than Viking ones. Dreamer felt a terrible craving to experience that much love, an unconditional love that he did not have to earn, and his chest ached with the knowledge that his relationship with Wanderer was the closest he would get; it wasn't the same.

His little nest of blankets suddenly felt cramped and stagnant. He needed to stretch his legs, smell new air, so he dragged himself up, gave Wanderer a brief nuzzle on his way past and ambled downstairs. He didn't know what he was expecting or intending, but a brief loop of the den confirmed his sire wasn't even there.

Dreamer padded to the dying fire and lay next to it. Where had he gone wrong? Should he have eaten more? Spent less time… _dreaming,_ and more time working out? He curled up around the pain in his chest, into a tight disc, and hid under a wing. The same way he used to sleep in this house, in the bed upstairs, retreating to the closest thing he had to a safe place; his mind.

His eyes stung but could not weep, his breath dragged but would not catch. He wasn't sure dragons even could cry, but either way he still could not; he'd built the clamps on his heart too well and they were holding back the tide, oblivious to his attempts to pry them loose.

So he just lay there, silent, still, wishing to be found like that and yet also not at all.

A wordless croon filled his ears, gentle and pleasant, and he was enveloped in another layer of scaly leather. It almost did feel like an unfathomably large and warm creature had wrapped him up. Almost.

For a while he was content like this, but Wanderer thought otherwise and coaxed him out of his curl to bring him into a proper embrace, belly to belly and wrapped in wings. Dreamer buried himself in the rumbling chest. Their scents were different, telling different stories, but underneath it all they really were the same. Wanderer really had somehow given his own body to replace Dreamer's broken one. That was how much Wanderer loved him.

So why was he falling apart like this? What should he do? What was _anyone_ supposed to do? What did he want!?

_…Wanted not be alone again…_

The clamps didn't break, but they cracked, and Dreamer pined and wailed into the embrace. The pained words, spoken by his friend what seemed like months ago, resonated strongly with his core and echoed in his mind. _Not be alone_… He was being pulled close with purrs of _reassurance_ and _safety_ while he let go of the pain and torment he'd been harbouring in wracking, whining sobs.

A few minutes was all he needed, and he calmed; it really did feel like an immense pressure in his chest had been released. The reversal of their roles – from when he had regained his memories – was also not lost on him. _He is my safe place… and I will be his._

He gave Wanderer a fat lick under the chin and received a fat lick down his head in reply; a _thank you_ and _you're welcome_, but so much deeper and more meaningful. It was still difficult to get over just how expressive Nightstrikers were, probably other dragons too, and how easily he found himself adjusting to it. This was so much better than fiddly words.

_Oof_, Dreamer's legs were starting to cramp and cry out for movement. _Well, maybe a few more minutes…_

* * *

Wanderer gently nuzzled the sleeping Dreamer, again bemoaning himself for his lack of preparedness. The little Nightstriker had suffered terribly in the storm that ate the warmth from their den and bodies, but the shine was now returning to his scales and his energy was growing.

In a way, having no energy would be nice right now… Wanderer was _bored_. His old nest had been warm and big enough for a little aerial play, but here all he could do was a bit of gliding. There were even annoying tree-things stretching across the den that further limited him, though they made good perches. At least this room had still smelled of Dreamer, of his fragile Long-Paw body, but those scents were slowly being replaced by Nightstriker ones. Maybe that was for the best.

He sighed and listened to the sounds outside. The sky-fire was not far from kindling and the wind was starting to pick up, blowing deadly shards of ice in every direction. It wasn't all that far into the cold-season, he _might_ be able to sneak in a quick flight before the cold completely settled… but not this night. Resigned to another light in this stuffy den, he cracked a wide yawn and hunted for a small-ground-prey he thought he could smell. It might be his imagination… or maybe the one he caught last night. Who could say?

Sounds from below tugged at his ears, Dreamer's sire stirring. He was being very loud about it. Wanderer padded down the wood-teeth to the lower den, then ducked under the strange not-skin that hung in the rear den-mouth. He found himself in a small room smelling strongly of the giant Long-Paw, and picked his way through the Long-Paw-not-skins strewn around the floor to the strange Long-Paw-sleeping-place that Dreamer's sire rested on.

Although, right now he was not very restful. In his sleep he keened in long, mournful notes, and Dreamer's words came to mind; "Be nice. He lost my dam, now me." It had hurt when Wanderer had fled his nest, not knowing the fate of his family, but that was nothing to the thought of losing his Dreamer… and this Long-Paw had suffered it twice.

Wanderer brought his forepaws up to the raised sleeping-place, bringing him close to the Long-Paw's face. Though much of it was obscured by that absurdly long fur on his face, the closed eyes were contorted and restless. It was not good sleeping. Wanderer gave a comforting, gentle croon, and after a few moments the eyes opened in fear – not of Wanderer, of something else – and a deep shame. Dreamer's sire was very broken inside, that he could move at all was a testament to his strength.

A paw tentatively reached out and stroked Wanderer's forehead, and he purred at the gesture. He recognised his new Long-Paw name – it was still sometimes difficult to resist rolling his eyes, much to Dreamer's amusement – and huffed an agreement to the Long-Paw's satisfaction. Dreamer's sire sat and rumbled sad but comforting Long-Paw words, now stroking his frills and neck, and Wanderer started feeling drowsy. _Be nice_… He hopped up onto the sleeping-place, and tentatively stepped into the Long-Paw's lap. He didn't have to particularly like Dreamer's sire, but he could be nice, and if he had to be bored he might as well be comfortable about it.

He relaxed and resumed purring when the giant paws rubbed and kneaded his shoulders and back, working out the tension from the last few nights. The low rumblings were likely not intending to say _sleep_, but if they insisted…

* * *

Winter was well and truly upon them, snow was piling up everywhere and the wind whipped a frenzy through the village. Trips outside were when necessary, as brief as possible, and only during the calms that occasionally settled; 'calm' being relative. While still in the Chief's house, they were also the most exciting part of their routine.

Both Nightstrikers were going stir-crazy when Tuffnut turned up out of nowhere to miraculously save the day with a suggestion to rotate the pair between willing houses of the village. It was actually getting a bit creepy how good he was with this when he was otherwise so scatter-brained and chaotic.

Today, they found themselves in Astrid's house, and just like everyone else she shared it with an uncountable number of relatives. There were three stories, and two of them were packed with beds. Dreamer really hadn't realised how good his accommodations had been as the Chief's son, and was getting the idea that it wasn't only his physique that had earned him the ire of his peers.

Just like the last house – an enthusiastic family of labourers – not everyone in Astrid's proud warrior family was thrilled with the idea of dragons running around. However, even the grumpiest of their hosts had to approve whenever a Nightstriker caught and cleanly disposed of the rodents seeking refuge from the cold, and they were also very good at keeping the kids occupied.

Hiding under a bed, Dreamer scanned the floor in front of him. The wood above him creaked – there! He shot out and viciously attacked the morsel of dried fish, then scrabbled back under the bed to the squeals and wild giggling of four children. The scrap barely touched his belly, but it was a pleasant explosion of flavour on his tongue and he was enjoying the fun he was giving the kids; they had also been very bored being cooped up inside for so long.

Astrid whispered from the bed, but it was just unintelligible rasping sounds. No matter, it was fairer this way. The next drop was a little further out, he would have to be quick – a mirror shadow shot out from the bed across the room. Dreamer got there first, but Wanderer snatched the treat out from under him then darted around to pinch his hiding spot too.

Dreamer griped over the laughs and cheers, but quickly leapt under a different bed. Peeking out from under it, he watched Astrid hand a sliver of fish to one of the younger kids, a little girl with wild curly blonde hair and a round face. The child wobbled to the edge of the bed and dropped the treat, then cackled madly at Wanderer snatching it up and disappearing again.

With more whispers, Astrid handed another to one of the older kids, a boy of maybe eight or nine, and it was tossed to the middle of the room. No, wait, _two_ treats! Dreamer dug his claws in and shot out again, quickly snapping up the closer treat and pouncing on the other before Wanderer got it. There was a scuffle, but Dreamer managed to scoff it down too.

Wanderer bit him, so he bit him back and then they were having a full-on play fight on the floor with a laughing and cheering audience. Of course, Wanderer always won when he wanted to and he was being a sore loser for having his treat stolen, but a call for dinner saved Dreamer from a surely grizzly end; even Wanderer understood that particular call, regardless of who was shouting it. They dropped through the hole in the floor, ignoring the stairs, and stalked in the rafters until everyone was settled.

This next bit was tricky. The family would crowd around the fire to eat, and the Nightstrikers had to sneak around the kids without attracting the adults' attention. Success earned them tasty bites of food, failure resulted in being chastised and chased off. The head of the household before last had once chased them off with a broom and locked them upstairs; Wanderer left a dead mouse for her in apology, and who was Dreamer to argue with that.

Sometimes the adults were more amenable though, and Dreamer was learning how to identify them. The man he was creeping behind, an uncle of Astrid's, had been grinning at the Nightstrikers whenever his wife wasn't looking. A discrete nuzzle of his elbow, and he covertly rewarded Dreamer with a fat slice of juicy fish.

After dinner he and Wanderer were fed the scraps and some raw fish – of course they didn't have to beg, it was just more fun – and the younger kids were sent off to practise their runes. Some of the older kids were allowed to stay in the family area with the adults to chat or play games, where Dreamer climbed into Astrid's lap and purred as she absently stroked him. Wanderer picked one of her mellower cousins to accompany.

This was definitely much better than lounging around the Chief's house.

Astrid was cheekily creeping her hand around Dreamer's side and tilting her legs to lean him over, surreptitiously making her way to his soft belly. He was about to warn her off when she distracted him with a scratch under his jaw – then it was far too late. He was on his side, and her hand was finding _all_ the right spots. She'd had her own dragon for over a year now, of course she'd know all the tricks, but that didn't make Wanderer's snickering any easier to bear.

_Oh no_, Dreamer though mildly as his legs kicked and happy growls escaped his throat. He should really roll back over, preserve _some_ of his dignity… Instead, he lazily shifted his head to get a look at his captor. Once upon a time she had been beautiful, striking, he might have dared to say _stunning_. She'd made his legs weak and his brain seize. Now, she was maturing and growing into her face, and intellectually he could appreciate her figure… but there was no attraction. Nothing. He couldn't even remember what he'd found attractive in the first place.

Of course, he was too young for such thoughts anyway… again? It was strange, like a piece of him had just fallen away. He no longer wanted… that… and so attractiveness was again a foreign concept, which went on to change his own thinking. What used to be a glorious girl with the light shining through her hair was now someone who jumped to violence at the twitch of a claw and had a large emphasis on pride.

When it was deemed time for everyone to sleep, the Nightstrikers were laid on the floor in front of the fire with a long day of play behind them and a good meal weighing comfortably in their bellies. They were both desperately looking forward to flying again, but this was a tolerable way to pass the winter.

* * *

Fishlegs was ecstatic, it was _finally_ his house's turn to host the Furies! It had been arbitrarily decided to start at the top of Berk and move them down, minimising their exposure to the elements, which all made perfect sense except for that his house was at the bottom. Though, the wait _had_ given him a lot of time to think up new studies; patience was a virtue, after all. Being a sort of unofficial dragon advisor he did have the privilege of visiting rights – when the weather allowed – to ensure the pair were being treated properly, but that wasn't the same.

He'd insisted on fetching them himself, so now he was head to toe in furs, only the tiniest slit open to see through, while the wind howled and wailed and tried to pull him over for the duration of the arduously long trek three doors up the path. This was a remarkably good calm in the storms.

Once he was let in he excitedly listed off some of the more important questions, but Astrid just stared at him blankly.

"You realise I can't hear you under all those furs? Nevermind– no, don't take them off. Here, just take them." She pulled out a small bag and placed something on each of his shoulders which were quickly snapped up by the two fledglings climbing up his back. "Have fun training them," she said sarcastically, "they won't do anything without a treat _first_."

"Hmmm, that _is_ one of the problems I foresaw training smarter dragons, it's fine, I'll think of something." Astrid gave him a tired look. _Oh, right._

She draped another thick coat over him, tying it at his shoulders and waist to enclose the dragons in a pocket over his back, and attached a sack to his side. He shouted a muffled goodbye as she opened the door for him, and carefully wedged himself out to trek back home.

He was greeted by nine and a half pairs of studious eyes when he shut the door behind him, and felt the two Furies shuffling forward to peek out from under the overcoat. He made shooing motions with his thickly garbed arms until everyone shuffled back, and only then let his little sister approach to undo the knots. The sack, containing toys, brushes, treats, and other effects, clattered to the floor, followed by the overcoat and then the dragons. While he peeled off layers, he reflected on how _cool_ it would be to have a little Night Fury perched on each shoulder, each like a swivelling turret of death. He could just stroll through a battlefield and lay waste to everything around him.

His fantasy was cut short by growling. Toothy and Hiccup were crouched low and backing away from Froglegs, a cousin two years Fishlegs' senior.

"Really? I give you _one rule_, 'no weapons' and you just _have_ to break it!" Fishlegs frustratedly exclaimed.

Froglegs sported a dim smile; despite appearances he was highly intelligent with the Ingerman thirst for knowledge, but liked time to think and act. Wordlessly he reached into a pocket and procured a small flat bar of iron. "I think we can ink your theory of smell, Fish'," he said carefully while the Furies inspected the metal and then him.

When they were seemingly satisfied, he produced a second identical bar. Toothy wasn't interested, but Hiccup gave Froglegs a dirty look. Fishlegs was with him.

"Rubbed a whetstone on that one," Froglegs pointed to the bar on the floor, "and they found it, but not this one which is raw. Fascinating."

Froglegs' mother cuffed his ear and glared at him before addressing everyone else. "Awright, ye's seen 'em now, ye can play with the scalies later when they've settled. Clear off!" she barked. When Aunt Ragnhild said move, you _moved_, and the room suddenly felt a lot bigger. With freedom and space, Toothy and Hiccup explored, and before long they'd had their nose in every cupboard and paws on every shelf. After Toothy had been chased away from the food counter for the third time, Fishlegs dug out a pair of mutton bones for them to chew on until dinner.

The Ingerman clan was one of the more successful of the village, and to eat they sat around a table as mark of their status. Maybe it was a little cramped but it sure beat eating off the floor. The plates were passed around, each holding a fish fillet, a cut of mutton, and a pile of steaming vegetables. Much more generous than any previous Winter; some years, meat had been a luxury for every second or third day.

One of the Furies, Fishlegs couldn't see which, tugged at Froglegs' sleeve.

"Huh, what you got there?" Froglegs wondered aloud as he leaned back. As close to shoulder-to-shoulder as they were, this created a small gap over the back of his chair through which darted a dark shadow, and the mutton chop disappeared from his plate. It was so fast that Frog didn't even have a chance to react, instead he could only spin in his chair and stare backwards after his dinner – this allowed the first Night Fury to jump up and grab the fish as well, and the pair thundered upstairs with their plunder.

The whole scene was over in seconds, and everyone stared in dumb shock at Froglegs, who stared morosely at his lonely vegetables. After a moment he seemed to realise he was holding something and brought it up in front of his face – his iron bar from earlier.

The house shook with mirth, Fishlegs was laughing so hard there were tears streaming down his face and he was struggling to keep his chin out of his own dinner. "That'll learn ya!" someone called out, and the laughter redoubled. Froglegs did not find it funny at all. Later he would make a comment about the intelligence of Night Furies, but for now he just stared sadly at his plate.

Aunt Ragnhild eventually recovered enough to speak, "Aw lad, go get yeself another fish and stake it over the fire," she said hoarsely. "And mind yer curiosity next time!"

The sounds of joviality were quickly replaced by those of hungry Vikings, and then with conversation. The Ingerman clan had jobs all over the village and never all got a chance to eat together until winter, so they used this time to cement their family bonds and to somewhat formally catch up with what everyone was doing.

Naturally, the subject tonight was their little guests, and Fishlegs beamed while recounting interesting behaviours he'd noticed, discussing his theory of their suitability for warmer climates, that they couldn't seem to breathe fire yet, and his mission of learning their language. He'd always been fascinated by dragons, but until now all anyone else – save sometimes Hiccup – was interested in was how to kill them. Not eating and migratory habits, and certainly not how to be killed _by_ them, so this was a wonderful change.

More knowledge was never a bad thing, right? Surely someone could have used it to help fight. Although, Fishlegs had since realised that he had never really wanted to fight and kill dragons, it was just the only way he knew how to interact with them. Until recently it was the only way anyone _could_ interact with them.

He received good feedback on his language ideas, and some of the more astute fighters recalled things they'd seen in raids that might be helpful. "You know," Uncle Gunnar mused, "we have a book around here somewhere on training hunting dogs. It had a page on recognising their behaviours – bared teeth, tail movements, posture, and so on. I've noticed a few of them just this evening, betcha dragons aren't much different."

"Of course, it's so obvious now!" Fishlegs loudly berated himself. "I already have a sketch of one apologising, I'd just assumed it was sort of like a bow or handshake, not that their words might not be sounds at all! Actually, no, I'm sure lots of words are sounds, it's probably a mix between the two..." He considered getting his notebook out to pass around, but a glance at his greasy fingers convinced him otherwise.

The biggest problem he faced was that without context he was completely in the dark, and they didn't seem to try to talk Dragonese, as he was calling it, to any but each other and sometimes Stormfly or Meatlug. He was still thinking about it later, as he watched Hiccup tug and grapple with a short length of tattered rope trying to pull it free of Toothy's jaws. How could he get them talking? How could he differentiate between what was a 'word' and what wasn't?

Toothy let go of the rope and Hiccup toppled backwards, grumpily got to his feet, and batted Toothy around the ears a few times. Fishlegs' eyes narrowed, and a series of memories lined up in his head in almost perfect unison as he sketched the scene.

He'd found a thread, and once he started pulling at it… A phrase his grandfather used to say came to mind, "An idea is a very infectious thing." Only now, at this moment, did he truly understand that.

* * *

Berk was literally buried in snow. It clung to the steep roofs of the houses, piled in corners, and camouflaged stairs. There were a few interesting holes where someone had inadvertently walked off an icy ten-foot drop and had to dig themselves out.

After spending so long inside, the air was miraculously crisp and clean, though it was still cold enough to bite through Dreamer's scales. As long as he kept active it wasn't a problem, and this was definitely a time to be active.

Wanderer pounced him from behind and dropped a wad of wet snow between his wings, sending icy shivers down his spine and tail. Squealing, Dreamer threw him off and shook himself, then rolled in the snow to try to dry his back. He growled and tried to take a mouthful of snow to retaliate, but apparently Nightstrikers were severely prone to brain freeze and he hurriedly spat it out with pained groans. _How had Wanderer done that?_ he wondered while rubbing his tongue along the roof of his wide mouth to try to ease the pain.

Wanderer was laughing, so Dreamer lunged at him and they fought in the white powder. He was getting better, dodging and snaking away from grapples and bites, but couldn't seem to pin the bigger dragon. He did manage to clamp his teeth on Wanderer's ear and received a satisfying yip, but was then distracted by something cold hitting him in the shoulder.

_Again!?_ He shook off the snowball, searching for the culprit, but the teens were all staring at him and stifling giggles, it was impossible to tell who was guilty. _All of them_, he decided, shouting indignantly to their raucous laughter.

"With me," he grumbled at Wanderer, who chuffed mischievously, and they bounded behind the nearest house to conspire.

By the time they took to the air, the teens had surrounded themselves with a low wall of snow and were locked in battle with a larger group of their younger siblings. Wanderer and Dreamer laboured high above them, then pitched forward into sharp dives and pulled up to soar over the battlefield.

The large snowballs they'd been carrying continued to hurtle down, Dreamer's hitting Snotlout square between the shoulders and Wanderer's bowling over Astrid. Dreamer looked back to see both rounding on Ruffnut, Snotlout twisting stiffly on his feet as snow presumably melted down his collar. Snickering, Dreamer motioned to Wanderer and they quickly picked up more snow from a nearby roof.

Course, rough shouts followed them into the air after they'd dropped their second payloads. Dreamer was sure to laugh loud enough that Ruffnut, now covered head to toe in snow, could hear as he circled above the makeshift snow fort, and Wanderer chattered a matching laugh opposite him. Such it was that everyone was either laughing or looking up when the army of kids charged the walls and point-blank pelted the teens with snowballs.

It wasn't long before hunger made itself known, as it quickly did when playing in the cold, and everyone waded up to the gloriously warm Great Hall for the Snoggletog feast. It was a week-long affair, with food constantly being laid out to celebrate those who survived another winter – they were better stocked some winters than others, but this was a particularly grand feast. At any one time there was a whole spit-roasted prey-thing hanging over the fire, and all the Furies had to do was stare longingly at it for a few moments before someone would cut off a leg for them to share.

Dreamer was taken back to the times he had torn apart young boars and deer with Wanderer, the meals they had hunted and caught together. Despite the constant danger, despite not knowing if they would catch their next meal or go hungry, he found himself looking back fondly at the feral life. The way this mutton just fell apart in his claws was very satisfying, and the fat and juices running from it were _divine_, but it lacked something. The kills he and Wanderer had made were _theirs_, and achievement was an incredible seasoning.

Partway through lapping up some scraps, Dreamer paused. Since when had he been comfortable licking the _floor_ of all things? People were constantly treading who knew what into the hall, and a quick sweep was usually all the cleaning it got, but… he couldn't bring himself to be disgusted by it. All he could smell was the splatters of tasty fat and protein, still tantalisingly close to his nose, and before he could stop himself the tip of his forked tongue poked forward. _What am I so worried about?_ Vikings weren't exactly a hygienic lot, and his tongue had been in some pretty gross places by Long-Paw standards even after regaining his memories. He'd been eating live bugs out there in the wild, and more recently the mice that snuck inside over winter, just for the fun of it. It was all perfectly normal for a dragon.

…Oh. _For a dragon_. A small part of him that he'd been ignoring was recoiling at the statement, blithely insisting that he was still human. But _should_ he ignore it? He didn't want to lose himself to the dragon he'd become… for all the sense that made.

He yawned widely, his full belly demanding sleep. A nap sounded good, and often things made more sense afterwards. "Too cold for sleep in den?" he asked. If a nap didn't help, Wanderer had a way of making problems seem very simple and trivial.

The bigger dragon hummed thoughtfully. "We see."

On a base level, though not consciously, Dreamer was aware of the wiry figure in the corner of the hall. He'd been glaring at the two Night Furies from the moment they'd entered, muttering and groaning to himself; certainly not to anyone else, he was normally given a wide berth, and on this day he was in a particularly foul mood.

When the two dragons exited the hall, the old man followed them outside and watched from the stone steps as they flew away. Scowling, he secured his coat against the cold and trudged into the village.

* * *

As was usually the case, Berk was shrouded in the shadows of thick grey clouds looming overhead. While the threat of rain was always quite real on this remote land it had thankfully not yet graced the day with its presence.

"I must admit that, while I am exuberant at the liberation of the village, I am disappointed to lose such a proliferous source of dragon paraphernalia. However, I am a resourceful man, and I am sure this will not greatly inhibit my enterprise. I shall of course continue to return to Berk to trade necessities and curiosities aplenty, as long as I am duly compensated you understand."

The hold of the heavy boat amplified the sounds of the water sloshing against its side, and the sails flapped in their bindings, but Johann was so familiar with these noises that he no longer noticed them. His ears were tuned to dragon calls, still uncertain of the supposed peace Berk had attained and if that peace extended to foreigners. No dark shapes descended from the gloomy sky to rain fire upon him, but what the lunatic Vikings considered to be safe was often still fraught with peril, such as riding on the backs of flying lizards for example.

"Aye, good to hear it," rumbled Chief Stoick through his magnificent beard. "And yes, now that we aren't spending all our time rebuilding we can produce other wares. Come, let's talk over a mug of mead."

"Ahh, I do look forward to a mug of Berk's _prestigious_ mead after such a peregrination." It was a truth, of sorts. The drink was far too pungent for his tastes, but it was nonetheless very welcome after so long at sea and particularly when accompanied by a hot meal. What was traded to him also sold well enough in the south.

The discussion proceeded without issue, Berk had a practically non-existent supply of dragon parts for trade this year, but also did not require copious amounts of metal and food. Additionally, there were extra leathers and mead to trade so they were easily able to broker an agreement.

It was also a good opportunity to keep up with the local gossip. The Hooligans, strangely being the most stable Viking tribe despite their proximity to the nest, was always the first stop on Johann's journey. It allowed him to get a read of the rest of the Archipelago before sailing into it, and with the practised ear of a merchant he kept tabs on four or five conversations around him in addition to the one he was having.

"I beg your pardon?" Johann suddenly squeaked, going white. He hadn't thought he'd heard right, and ignored the woman he'd been talking with to sidle into the conversation going on next to him.

"Eh? I was jus' sayin' the Furies are back ou' in the air. Been cramped up indoors all wint–"

"My apologies for interrupting, good sir, but you wouldn't be referring to a _Night Fury_, would you?"

"…Yeh? Two of 'em."

Johann willed his legs to still, but failed to calm his voice. "_Two_ Night Furies!? And… they _haven't_ levelled the place…?"

The Vikings, a pair of men with typical brawny arms and thick greasy hair, laughed at him. As if it were a joke. The woman he'd been talking to laughed as well. "We use' to have trouble with one, mostly took out the catapults and torches in raids. You would'a got tha' story last year, how 'Iccup brough' 'im to heel an' saved the village an' all. Pro'lly a good thing tha' beastie ran off, lotsa grudges against 'im. Well, jus' afore winter a pair o' wee ones turned up out'a nowhere, an' they been livin' 'ere since. Don't even got no fire yet, only thing they'll level is a plate o' fish."

The Viking across the table raised his mug. "Yeh should meet 'em! Right frien'ly, they are. Cute, too."

…Trust the Vikings to find 'cute' in a pair of death machines. Johann might have considered the Hooligans a sensible lot, but that was still only by comparison.

The Viking next to him called something and suggestively waved a leg of mutton in the air. "Toothy! 'Iccup! Huh, tha's odd." He was looking up, now scratching the side of his head.

Johann followed his gaze, the light of the fires didn't quite reach the roof but peering into the dim he could just make out four green orbs that had no place being there. Four eyes, seeming to glow with their own eerie flames. Two dragons. _Two_ _Night Furies!_

Fighting his instincts to loose some of the knives in his sleeves and run screaming from the hall, Johann rose slowly. He couldn't look away; as nightmarish as those lights were, he was more afraid of losing sight of them.

Thankfully they were still there, floating near the roof, when his back bumped into the door. He was loath to break eye contact and his back prickled with the expectation of fireballs slamming into it, but it was necessary to turn around so that he could run all the way back to his ship.

He passed his sentry in a blur and barricaded himself in the cabin, then sat on the bed and cupped his head in his hands. Of course, the ship would be little protection if a Night Fury decided to end him, but reason had nothing to do with this. He'd just been told these two were young, friendly, and couldn't even shoot fire yet, but all his reeling mind could remember was the piercing shrieks, and hoping to hear the following explosions. That had meant he was still alive.

He was on the verge of success of trying to convince himself it had just been some terrible nightmare when there was a knock at the door. Johann straightened his tunic and bracers before opening it to stare into a mass of red beard. "…Ahhh, Stoick, my apologies for the abrupt departure from your magnificent hall. I found myself feeling suddenly under the weather…"

The big man considered him. "…Walk with me a moment." With time to calm down and think, Johann wasn't quite as skittish now, and it helped that Stoick exuded confidence and strength in his slow gait as they climbed back into the village. "It's partially my fault. I didn't put myself in your shoes. Two years ago I wouldn't have handled that any better. They are problems in the south too, then?"

Why, that was practically an invitation! Johann never could resist regaling one of the many adventures he'd accumulated over the years. "You could say that, my good friend. It was commonplace, many years ago. There I was, a merchant not long embarked on the seas of independence, moored at the bustling dock of Tjeldskenny. Ahh, I remember it like it was yesterday. In those days, the streets smelled of fresh pine and the wares flew from the crates. Made quite a tidy profit from the numerous furs and ivory they offered in trade."

He listed some of the less relevant but no less important details of the town, setting the scene, though he was oddly out of breath as they reached the top of the ramps from the dock. No matter. "Despite the brutish nature of many of its people they were very hospitable and civilised, much like yourselves really, so it was a good town to moor at for the night. Or so I thought.

"I had just retired to my room in the inn… when I _heard it_." Icy chills crept their way down Johann's spine at the thought; this was one of the few things he did not like to recount. "I am certain you are all too familiar with _that_ sound... And with every dive, another flash of blue momentarily banished the darkness, and another building was wiped from the village.

"I lay awake through the rest of the night, fearing that sound would return, and only after watching the hunting party leave the next morning did I muster the confidence to depart. It was quite some time before I returned, after similar experiences in other small villages, but never stayed the night again. No, I've learned the safest place to moor overnight is in a large city, or nowhere at all."

"Aye," Stoick rumbled, "I understood why you never stayed here long. I hope you weren't carrying food on your ship?"

Johann stroked his beard; in the south it was considered long, not so much here. "That, my dear Stoick, was the strange part. The beast was merely content with its destruction of the town and exhibited complete disinterest in anything else. Just like yours, if memory serves." He was abruptly reminded of _why_ he was telling this story, and his tone darkened. "Mark my words, it's a dangerous game to fraternise with those demons."

Stoick stroked the braids in his own beard while he thought. By now they had almost reached the Great Hall, but Stoick instead turned off by his house. "I understand. Here's my counter."

They walked behind the Chief's lodgings to find a squat boy playing tug-of-war on the grass with two small dragons, using a rope with three ends and a knot in the middle. One of the dragons quickly dropped the rope to observe Johann warily, but the other dragon pounced it and they rolled around on the grass. Johann was strongly reminded of puppies, or perhaps kittens were a closer comparison. Somewhere in between.

"Thank you Fishlegs. How are they doing today?"

"Both happy and healthy. Still growing steadily, but much slower than other species."

Johann realised his mouth was hanging open, and closed it with a click. The wary dragon, when standing on all fours, came up to about his knee, and the other was maybe a full hand shorter. Even with the playful behaviour and juvenility aside, they didn't live up to expectation.

He'd once, long ago, traded copies of a portrait that was as accurate as anyone could make out from the brief silhouettes afore the fires, but they were quite wrong. What had been assumed to be wicked horns were more like ears, two large ones and six small ones. Instead of large, razor sharp spines down their backs they had blunt fins. Instead of needles like most other dragons they had wide and short teeth, though they still tapered to wicked points. Their claws were similarly wider and shorter than assumed, but no less sharp.

"If you like you can approach and pet them," Fishlegs said happily, demonstrating by holding out a hand that was quickly filled with purring dragon, "but you'll need to disarm first. They won't let you approach if you're carrying anything sharp."

"Ah, thank you, master Fishlegs, but I am quite content observing from here," Johann stuttered nervously. He held some twenty-six blades on him at this moment – anyone underestimating _this_ humble merchant was always in for a nasty surprise – even if he _was_ willing to approach... the… _Hmm_. "If you would be so gracious, Chief Stoick, I think I require a few more mugs of that mead…"


	5. Trepidation

_**Author's Note**_

_It's been brought up with me a few times, enough that I might as well address this here for any new readers __– I am aware this type of colour deficiency is not normal for reptiles. In fact it's not normal for anything as far as I can tell, and I've put a fair amount of research into it because it's the type of colour deficiency I myself have. The upcoming scene is my own description of events._

_I'll admit, this is mainly for convenience. I honestly have no idea what colour any of the canon dragons are (as I quickly forget), and colour is one of the last identifying features of anything for me, so not only do I not need to run to someone every time I want to mention colour but I'm given an excuse for why it's not often used to describe things. It _does_ give me quite good night vision though, and I can easily see through many types of camouflage that others can't, so in some ways I consider it an advantage. Enough to give me some realistic ground to give it to my Nightstrikers. _

* * *

Dreamer's eyes were narrowed to slits, legs responding to the path through the trees that his mind was constantly calculating, paws flexing to grip the icy ground as they made impact. The smell of greenery wormed its way through the chill snow, and the only sounds were the occasional breeze whistling through the frozen trees and Wanderer bounding along ahead of him.

How they had missed this… Being fed was simply not the same as hunting their own meals, and with the other dragons all off on their warm egg-nest, as Wanderer had called it, they safely had free reign of the forest. About the only thing that even could give them trouble here was a pack of wolves, which would steer clear of their fellow predators now that they were almost the same size.

Wanderer stopped suddenly and Dreamer pulled up beside him, both nosing at the small thicket with mouths watering. _Breakfast_. They prowled around the thicket, probing it, mapping its exits, trying to determine how many prey-things were inside; at least two. Dreamer let instinct take over, but left a small portion of himself to observe. Wanderer silently took the lead of the hunt, and with miniscule movements had Dreamer take up a position and wait to ambush. Just by reading where Wanderer was looking, Dreamer already knew the plan.

Wanderer started clawing at the shrubs, and the first rabbit shot from the foliage to be immediately snapped up, but a second and third got past him. That was good, Dreamer had been hoping for a proper hunt. He tossed the rabbit dangling from his teeth at the thicket, hoping it would still be there when they returned, and took chase after the closer one.

Rabbits were very, _very_ fast and agile prey, so special tactics were needed to catch them. From a little distance behind Dreamer could cut corners to catch up, but the closer he got the closer he had to follow its path and the less he could do to gain on it. A body-length behind – that included his long tail – and he could gain no further.

But behind them, Wanderer could gain. As the rabbit darted and swerved through the trees, Dreamer pulled a little out to the side, encouraging it to turn the other way and into Wanderer, who then took up the lead to herd it into Dreamer. They tag-teamed like this several times, until finally Dreamer got in front of it and its fluffy white fur met Wanderer's sharp white teeth.

Panting, they returned to the thicket where Wanderer noisily crunched his catch in half, but Dreamer just stared at his own. It was the first thing larger than a mouse that he'd killed since regaining his memories, and he'd done it without thought. He was no ignorant child, and he knew that the moment he unsheathed his teeth he'd be able to keep biting and shredding, but this first step… It was an intellectual one, a conscious decision to join the wild forces of nature.

An enquiring warble brought him back to reality. "I thinking," Dreamer replied and tore the rabbit in half, finding with mild surprise that the long fur didn't really bother him.

"Night you _not_ thinking is night you need new name," Wanderer teased as he cleaned his claws.

Dreamer stuck his bloody tongue out at him, then gulped down the other half of his catch. His mind had gotten in the way of his enjoyment of it, but he just needed time to process. Next hunt he would not waver. The whole 'turned into a dragon' thing still occasionally tripped him up, even as used to it as he was, but he was slowly finding a balance between the Viking and the Nightstriker.

It was curious that he enjoyed hunting now when he had not as a Viking. Granted, they were _wildly_ different experiences, and comparing his old body to his new one was like comparing a rusty hinge to an oiled bearing. The gnarly bark on a nearby tree caught Dreamer's eye, and he had a sudden urge to climb it; part of him was curious about his body's limitations, but mostly he just wanted to climb for the fun of it. Wanderer watched as he tentatively gripped the bark with his claws, did the same with his hind-claws, and crept up the tree. Nightstriker claws were shorter and thicker than other dragons', and he found them handling his weight with ease. The pull on them even felt good, sort of like stretching a stiff joint.

Before he knew it, he was a few body-lengths from the ground and had reached the lowest branch. It had been so easy and took so little effort that he angled around to the lowest branch and climbed out along it, upside down. That was only marginally more difficult, his forelegs not being quite as strong, but with his claws dug in firmly he could sort of half-walk, half-swing along the branch.

Wanderer nipped his tail, apparently having followed, then slung his own tail over the branch and hung upside down from it. _Ooooh, I gotta try that…_ Dreamer pulled his hindlegs up and snaked his tail over the branch, but it was nerve-wracking trying to get it to support his weight without it pulling his claws out. Below him, Wanderer chirped and waved, but Dreamer took little notice. He was busy trying to–

With a squeak, his top half fell away from the branch and wrenched away his hind-claws, leaving him to… swing. He was swinging by his tail! He let out a happy croon and spread out his legs and wings, dangling high off the ground like a giant black fruit. Nearby, Wanderer reached up to grab the branch and shuffle closer so that they could just about reach each other, then swiped at Dreamer with a playful growl.

What followed was a very interesting game of tag, where neither of them could move and they had _four_ limbs to strike with instead of one or two. Dreamer frantically slapped away paws darting at him, nearly losing his tail's grip on the branch a few times, but managed to get in a few strikes of his own. Including, he was quite proud to accomplish, landing a strike on a startled Wanderer's nose. The fact that Wanderer had been biting his other foreleg at the time was beside the point.

This was another curiosity, he was now enjoying rough play. It went back to his wondering of how much of thought was influenced by the body, such as with his sudden drop back behind puberty, and he suspected having a body that _liked_ being exercised was the biggest part of that. He hoped so, anyway; there were more disturbing reasons his thoughts could be different.

Wanderer got a good kick in with his hindlegs while he was spacing out, and for a crucial moment Dreamer forgot to use his tail – his heart leapt into his throat as he slipped from the branch. Without thinking he reflexively twisted in the air and flared his wings, and quite to his own surprise he landed squarely on his paws, if firmly. He could pretend that was all planned, and that he _hadn't_ shrieked on the way down. He glared up at Wanderer who looked back at him innocently, still hanging upside down.

_…We are so adorable_, Dreamer thought to himself. It was a pity everyone was so accommodating by default, even his sire, he almost wanted to try his arsenal of cute on someone. Wanderer had certainly had no qualms practising on him while trapped in the cove, and the adult dragon's pleading eyes had been near impossible to resist. Now that he was also tiny? That would be very dangerous.

They took wing and let the wind carry them up onto the flat above them where they perched to watch the sky-fire kindle in the water. Dreamer shivered – there was no shelter from the cold wind here – and wrapped himself in his wings while Wanderer did the same next to him.

He dreaded going back to their den, what they would find when they got there, but did his best to shove the thoughts from his head, they only served to boil his blood. _Think about something else_. Slowly, surely, the sky began to glow, and colour returned to the world. Some of it. Gone from the sky were the passionate reds, majestic oranges and fiery yellows, all replaced with a smear of cool green across the horizon. He couldn't even remember what a sunrise had looked like before, not that he had watched many.

"What word for look different? Sky, grass, blood. Sky, sea same. Grass, trees same."

"Rrmm… Colour. Why ask?"

"Long-Paws see more colours. Fire not colour of grass, it other colours."

"Fire not blood-colour, grass-colour?" Wanderer warbled in confusion.

"It more blood-colour, but no grass-colour. It… other colours." This was difficult to explain. How could he describe a colour he couldn't see or remember? He couldn't even say their names anymore. For that matter, how does one describe a colour at all?

Wanderer unwrapped himself, then nosed his way under Dreamer's wing and sidled up next to him, draping one wing over his shoulders and wrapping the other in front of them. Dreamer mirrored him, one wing draped over their rumps and the other in front of them as well so that they were a single bundle of warmth with only their heads and tails sticking out. It was much easier to talk like this. "Sky-fire-kindling blood-colour, two more colours, like fire. Trees different colour, but leaves grass-colour. More, rare colours in plants, small-wing-things."

"That too many colours," Wanderer remarked flatly.

"I not remember them. I know fire not grass-colour, but I not remember what look like. It strange." He couldn't stop picking over his memories, he could remember thinking about the beauty but the memory of the sunrise itself was distorted and wrong. Just as he couldn't describe the colours, his mind could no longer comprehend them even though it had the memory of it.

As he had talked, the sky-fire had appeared from the water, a little speck, and was now swelling and blazing brighter as they watched. Dreamer felt his eyes automatically filtering out the light, not quite the same way his human eyes had. Strange as it was, his sight was the biggest difference; he still had muscles, skin, teeth, nails, ears, a nose, and they all worked in the same way if usually better, but these eyes were alien.

The sight in front of him changed – the flat, dirty green across the horizon slowly gave way to a warmer green, and then a blazing green. The sky around that brilliant light shone in a vast array of tones that he wouldn't have thought possible, he didn't even have the words to do it justice. The sky-fire seemed to engulf the sky above it, like a plume of fire from an enormous dragon, and the ocean stretching out far below them was set ablaze. There even was a bit of red, if he looked closely, but it was lost in the overwhelming and vibrant shades.

There was a familiar sensation in his head, not painful this time, and he watched the memory of the sunrise twist into focus. No longer an explosion of colour, but now an explosion of tone and no less beautiful. Maybe this was why it had apparently taken so long for his memories to surface, on their own they were just too foreign for this mind to understand.

Those thoughts never led anywhere good so he put all that aside for now, focusing on the view, and the bits of his mind that weren't content to sit idle were set to thinking of the upcoming Thing. How he'd love to go, help convince the other tribes that dragons can be friendly, helpful creatures and show how amazing they were, but he had no way to suggest it without throwing Berk into chaos. He toyed with the idea of going along anyway, but there were too many wildcards. Best case scenario, his father would tell the truth so as to not appear hostile, that the Nightstrikers were wild and had simply followed him, but that would make them fair game to the other Chiefs.

So that particular dream was shot down, but perhaps circumstances would change and he'd be able to go another year. If not, maybe the other tribes would come around on their own when they saw how successful Berk was with dragons, in time. Or he'd come up with some other plan, when they were bigger and Wanderer stopped mothering him about danger all the time.

With the sky-fire resolving into its usual painfully bright ball, there wasn't much else to sit around for. Dreamer cracked a wide yawn and stretched – the cold had seized his wings somewhat – before dropping from the cliff to soar back to their nest. His sire would probably be leaving soon, and he wanted to see him off. It had nothing to do with not wanting to go back to their den, no, they had decided to take a stand and show it wasn't bothering them.

They took a bit of a detour when Wanderer nipped his tail, starting an impromptu game of chase, and arrived at the docks just in time to see the Chief's boat raise the sail and stow the oars. It was a beautiful thing, narrow and sleek with a well-polished hull and a clean sail proudly sporting the Berk crest, and the prow still featured a fearsome dragon though Dreamer felt its symbology had changed.

Thankfully the distance of the boat out to sea meant little to one with wings. He dove, feeling his heart skip as his weight vanished, and pulled up just before the water to shoot out across it with Wanderer on his tail. They reached the boat in moments and wheeled around it to the enthusiastic roars of the Vikings on the deck.

Stoick himself stood facing the ship from its prow, his expression unreadable between his helmet and facial hair, and as he turned and leaned on the railing he seemed… not quite happy, that wasn't the right word, but satisfied. He stood well and held his head high. There were fewer cracks in his shell, and while he undoubtedly still hurt underneath it all this meant he was slowly healing. As much as anyone could from such loss. Not for the first time, and unlikely for the last, Dreamer wished things could be different.

He decided to send them off with some style, and laboured up high into the air in front of the ship. Wanderer pulled up next to him, but Dreamer didn't need to say anything. Like with the hunt, they could read each other quite well in many ways, and Wanderer's look said _approval_.

When the boat was a mere speck far below, they let their momentum die. It was strange being this high in the light, and a little daunting, but he felt reassured being this close to their nest. With a glance at Wanderer, he tucked his head down, pulled his rump up, and launched himself back towards the sea. He felt as much as heard his whistle build, now steady and a bit deeper, but Wanderer's was still better. The slightly different notes mixed well and sent an exciting shiver down Dreamer's spine.

He eyed the water as it approached, making slight adjustments to bring them down right in front of the boat. At the last moment they threw their wings out and screeched past either side, maintaining their harmonious tones, to skim the water back towards Berk with woops and cheers on their tails.

* * *

Fishlegs put away his book – not the disorganised mess of notes, this was a first draft structured compilation of knowledge and it was time to test its value. Meatlug shuffled excitedly at his side, her great body radiating warmth against the chill and her claws clicking on the path only recently visible through the melting snow.

He entered the training ring to find Tuffnut sat cross-legged and playing with the Furies. "No. No! Give it back," he playfully chided, wrestling Toothy for something. Hiccup was sprawled across his lap, on his side and playfully but lethargically waving a paw at the tussle. "Wait your turn! Hey!" Toothy snatched the thing and scooted back, watching Tuffnut with his chest to the ground and hindquarters in the air.

"Hey Tuff, having fun there?"

"Huh? Oh, hey Fish. Yeah, something's up with these two today... Having trouble putting my finger on it…" He stroked his own chin with one hand, and Hiccup's with the other, ignoring Toothy strafing around him.

"Sure there's not just something up with you?" Fishlegs tried, it seemed good in his head but lame the moment he spoke it.

"There's always something up with me," Tuffnut replied thoughtfully. "Right now, I can't, leave, this, ring…"

"Why?"

"…Erm, there _was_ a reason for it. Hang on." He gently set Hiccup down and casually walked towards the entrance, but in short order Toothy was winding between his legs and Hiccup pounced him from behind so that he tripped and fell. The two Furies then sat on him. "Oh yeah, that's why. Little help?" Toothy dropped the thing on his head, a slimy brush.

Fishlegs revealed the two salmon he'd brought and slung them across the ring, Tuffnut groaning painfully as the dragons leapt from his back. "That's weird, they're not normally this clingy… Are they?"

"They're not clingy," Tuffnut replied matter-of-factly. "They just don't want me to leave. Hel if I know why, but _something's_ had them spooked for a little while now." He leaned in closer and spoke quietly. "I think Ruffnut's ugly face might be getting to them… Sometimes, it even gives _me_ nightmares…"

"Hmph!" Fishlegs stalked past him indignantly, then addressed the two Furies with a short sound to get their attention. _Moment of truth…_ He jerked his chin a little towards his chest, then at the Furies, made a twitchy shrugging motion while flaring his arms out a little, and then tilted his head to the left and remained still.

The little frills on the dragons' faces went out, and they shared a quick glance with each other, but then stared at him with their heads tilted to the left. _Left, wait which is left, ugh why do I keep mixing those up…_ He pulled out his book again and flipped to 'head motions' to check. Left was… 'general query'. Whoops.

He repeated the actions, but shrugged _twice_ for present tense and then tilted his head _right_ at the end to indicate he was asking a question. He was just so _nervous_, and he didn't have wings so was making do. But then, Stormfly didn't have forelegs so hopefully they were used to interpreting.

Clearly _something_ had got across, they were chittering excitedly between themselves. Hiccup then took a step forward and repeated him, except after flicking his head to his chest, meaning _I_ or _me_, he swept it across towards Toothy. _That must mean _we_ or _us, Fishlegs thought excitedly, and pulled out his Dragonese notebook to draw the symbol he'd invented for 'head' and a crude line indicating the direction of movement. It wasn't a perfect system, but it made notes a _lot_ easier.

He realised he'd forgotten to answer as he stashed the book, and shook his head; not laterally like the human _no_, but in a quick rolling tilt to each side. He felt like he was violently sneezing and it was Hel on his neck, but it had the desired effect.

Hiccup flapped his wings and bounced impatiently while Fishlegs mounted Meatlug, but Toothy went to Tuffnut and tapped a paw on the ground in front of him. "Uh, I think that means 'stay'," Fishlegs offered.

"Yeah, kinda got that." Tuffnut leaned backwards, and Toothy growled and slapped the ground a little harder. "See? Think when you come back, you can ask what's going on? I'm gonna sneak out, I'm _starving_."

"Huh? Oh, yeah…" Fishlegs was busy scribbling again, and barely noticed when Meatlug lifted them into the air.

It had only been to initiate contact, asking if they would fly with him was the most complete sentence he could currently say in Dragonese, but it felt like a huge step forward. Stoick was constantly on his case about training the two Furies, Thor only knew why, but as Astrid had said it was proving very difficult to coax them into doing anything they didn't feel like doing. Looks like they'd trained Tuffnut better than anyone had been able to train them. Hopefully being able to talk to them directly would completely circumvent the need for training, or at least open up new methods, either was good as long as it kept the Chief happy.

Toothy and Hiccup swooped around him, much faster than Meatlug but darting back and forth to stay close. Fishlegs thought of Hiccup flying on the back of Toothless, and the sheer _speed_ they had been going in the fight with the Green Death as they were now calling it. They had been so practised, so sure in their twists and turns. Nothing like safe little Meatlug, simply being a mile in the air was adventurous enough as far as Fishlegs was concerned. Hiccup had clearly been crazy.

_As crazy as this one_, he thought as the smaller Night Fury folded both wings and rolled several times in the air before shakily catching himself. He watched Toothy perform the same manoeuvre flawlessly, then repeated it a little better.

They did a lap of the main island, Fishlegs frantically scrawling in three separate notebooks for much of the flight. He kept a wary eye as best he could, but no adult Night Furies came to meet them even when the pair dove with Night Fury screeches – much more timid than Toothless' – and roared happily at each other. He had so many questions.

When they landed back in the now empty ring – Toothy huffed and grumbled at the gate before returning to his stable – Hiccup barked to get Fishlegs' attention, a sound that Fishlegs had so far interpreted as 'want to say something', then made a sinister pose. He was crouched low, his forelegs padded on the spot, and his teeth were bared. _Huh?_ Fishlegs tilted his head to the left, _what?_

Hiccup looked at him blankly for a moment, then bounded towards Stormfly's stable, and with a glance back at Fishlegs he crept inside. He only crossed the threshold before turning back, then twitched his chin towards his chest and made the same motion as before.

Fishlegs scratched his cheek. "You're… in Stormfly's nest… You're _intruding_ in her nest! Oh wow, this is going to be so much easier with you guys on board… Wait, the only reason you would be telling me this…" He wanted to be sure, so motioned _I,_ then an approximation of _intrude_, and walked just inside the Zippleback stable. Hiccup replied _yes_ with a shake of his head.

Hiccup made the motion again, but this time at the entrance to their own nest, then turned to look at him with his head lowered – about half as far as _apology_ – and eyes wide, _pleading_ him.

That explained everything with Tuffnut, but they quickly found Fishlegs' limits with the language trying to go into more detail. It was so frustrating, neither of them could communicate properly like this, Fishlegs couldn't ask who it was or what they were doing, and the dragons couldn't explain to him anyway.

He approached Hiccup and crouched down, laying a hand on his head. "I will find out," he said as reassuringly as he could, and Hiccup crooned and nuzzled his cheek. _Hmm, that might be 'thank you'…_ He hopped onto Meatlug and guided her back to the village, still scribbling.

Stoick was at the Thing, but while technically Gobber and Spitelout were in charge this was more in Astrid's boat. She tasked Fishlegs with learning more Dragonese, and would try to keep an eye on the stables when out flying with Stormfly, the rest of the riders were then brought up to speed and they promised to keep watch as well. Or close enough to. Tuffnut had actually promised to booby-trap the ring and personally do a number of unspeakable things to anyone caught anywhere near the place, and had only stopped when Ruffnut clobbered him.

The Furies seemed keen on teaching him their language. They would go for their early morning flight, return for a nap, then meet him at his house for an hour or so. They had originally used the training ring, but on the second day it had rained and this was easier anyway. He quickly picked up that almost everything relating to actions was body language, while abstract concepts were generally sounds which proved much more difficult both to understand and to speak. Objects could be either or both, so were hit and miss.

He was shown how to count, which was as simple as holding claws _down_, and used it as a fraction for the time of day. Holding forward two claws on one paw – out of four – while making the motion for sky and the sound for fire – which could only mean sun – meant halfway through the day. For more accurate times they might indicate both paws for a factor of eight. They were then able to tell him the intruder usually appeared at mid-morning, maybe once a week or so, but left nothing tangible.

After a particularly exhausting language lesson a few days after their first conversation, Toothy and Hiccup left only for Hiccup to return a few minutes later, yowling unhappily and scratching at the door. Meatlug had probably gone back to her stable, but Astrid had Stormfly and should be brought along anyway so Hiccup quickly tracked her down and the four of them made the short flight to the ring.

Toothy was snarling at his stable, and when they peeked in it was evident why. Fishlegs made to go in but stopped and tilted his head, remembering to the _right_ to ask a question, and was given permission to retrieve the fat eel. The way Toothy was reacting, Fishlegs was holding the physical manifestation of the most offensive insult to his mother, and Hiccup was gagging. Even Stormfly, settled near the entrance to the ring, bared her teeth and shied back. They _really_ didn't like these things. If only they'd known that decades, _centuries_ ago…

While things had clearly escalated, this still didn't give them a single lead to go on. The knowledge had been passed to farmers and anyone else still having problems with wild dragons, mostly those with property on the island proper, and they could have told anybody. The eels themselves were easy to get hold of, simply being part of the distribution of food to everyone in the village.

Fishlegs exited the arena to sling the eel into the ocean, then returned to confer with Astrid. They were both very protective of the little Furies and what – who – they represented, and their faces were cold and hard. The Furies themselves seemed remarkably calm about it, though the perpetrator seemed more interested in scaring or making them uncomfortable than going for actual harm.

"Can you smell the intruder, track them?" Astrid asked the pair, but just got blank stares back.

_Hmm._ Fishlegs motioned _you, smell, intruder, question_.

He apparently needed to learn a new word first, as Hiccup trotted to their stable and motioned _I_, then made a word by angling his head and tail out to the same side while humming calmly.

"That's your stable, your– your nest!" He pointed towards Berk and repeated the actions.

_Yes_, Hiccup replied, then _we, no, smell, intruder, nest_.

There could be a lot of reasons for that, but Berk's most vocal anti-dragon activist didn't live in the village. "That's very helpful, thanks little guy," he said as he approached to give the little Fury a firm two-handed scratch behind his ears, and Hiccup crooned and stretched into the gesture. Of course, he didn't forget to jot down _nest_, though that was trickier as he was still having to describe sounds.

It took him a few moments to notice Astrid looming over him. Well, Stormfly was looming over him and flexing her tail spines, though he wasn't sure which of the two was more intimidating. "Uh, they can't smell the intruder in the village," he blurted out.

"Well, that makes a certain rat muncher a lot more interesting, but we still need to find something _solid_. Not that we weren't already keeping an eye on him, so really we're no further." Astrid's voice was tense and frustrated, and Fishlegs could only nod glumly. It was a breakthrough, but nonetheless they were no further than they had been. "Still, we can confirm it's him, though it won't be considered proof. I'll… _obtain_ something and we'll check with the Furies that it's the same scent."

He probably should have thought of that, but he was still excited at practically applying Dragonese. As long as one of them thought of the important stuff, right?

Astrid found him later that evening and brought him to the training ring to translate, where she gingerly pulled out a scrap of cloth that had been cut from something. It turned out she didn't need him to translate, the growls spoke for themselves. Fishlegs and Astrid stared darkly at each other, not needing to voice the name; _Mildew_. It was only confirming their suspicions, but it posed a problem because his isolation meant nobody ever knew where he was. He was an intelligent and careful man, and the best dragon hunter in memory for some thirty years before age left him hobbled. Reaching old age itself was unheard of for such avid fighters.

They talked it over while the Furies wrestled, and decided the best thing they could do was _ensure_ that at least one person or dragon was in the stables at all times. It would dissuade him from further harassing the Furies in their nest, and if he changed tactics he might slip up.

Now they could only wait and see.

* * *

Stoick stared over the melting ocean from the prow of his ship, concern set into his features. At last year's Thing, many had scoffed at his claim that the dragon raids would slow if not cease completely, particularly the Berserker aids if not Oswald himself. At this year's Thing, everyone had taken him _much_ more seriously.

Berk hadn't suffered a single raid, and the other Chieftains had confirmed similar stories. There were still wild dragons that would occasionally attack fishing boats or travellers, but they now had no interest in the Viking settlements. Stoick hadn't been sure what that would mean for the non-aggression pact, but all the Chiefs there had agreed to maintain it. There were others they could raid, and none much felt like fighting each other.

Which would have been all well and good, had the Berserkers been one of those present.

Oswald the Agreeable lived up to his name, but there were rumours of rumours. _Something_ had happened, everyone agreed on that, but nobody yet knew what. It had made everyone nervous; the Berserkers were notoriously bloodthirsty, and though they were a splintered tribe they would be formidable if united.

He looked forward to seeing the Furies again, to feeling something akin to warmth in his heart, and to remind himself that Berk wasn't defenceless. Hopefully they would have their fire soon, there was a very real chance Berk would need that incredible ranged firepower, though training them was apparently not going well. Hmph, if Hiccup left 'such detailed notes' then Fishlegs should be able to work it out.

Sighing, Stoick pinched the bridge of his nose. This spring would be just as tense as usual.

* * *

The skies above Berk were a patchwork of clouds and misting rain, the tiny drops glittering where the sunlight struck them. From up here it was fascinating to watch the rain fall down to the ocean and islands, so different to fly through and around than to stand in.

With a flick of a wing before tucking both in tight, Dreamer quickly rolled several times in the air before gracefully catching himself, then did the same in the other direction just as flawlessly. _Yes! Finally!_ He'd been having much more trouble with the clockwise roll.

He wiggled proudly at Wanderer, who perked out all his frills in a Nightstriker smile. Then Wanderer's mouth curled up into a mischievous grin, and he flapped ahead a little to perform the same manoeuvre – during a backflip. The drag pulled him back, and he tidily caught himself dead even with Dreamer. He still had the exact same smile, as if it had never left his face, but now it was smug.

Dreamer glared at him. _Show off_.

In the distance he could see the sea stacks they had wildly careened through during their first real flight together, where they had cemented their strange friendship in a medley of trust, adrenaline, and fear. He was confident with catching himself now, time to try something he'd always been curious about…

He took a deep breath… and folded his left tail fin.

…

Nothing happened. His tail was a little heavier, but he remained level in the air and could compensate for the twist his lopsided tail was trying to pull him into. _Huh._ His mind was frantically searching for what he was missing, Wanderer was a much better flyer and it had completely crippled him.

Automatically, without thought, he flapped – _that_ was when things went wrong. His body rose, but his tail didn't. The unbalanced drag twisted him to the side where his wings couldn't compensate or hold the air properly, and the more he flapped to correct himself the worse it got until he was practically in freefall. He wrestled with the air trying to get his wings upright, but they wouldn't work properly without that one tiny fin, his heavy tail kept dragging him down.

He saw Wanderer diving next to him, wings flared a little to keep level with Dreamer and _concern_ all over his face. _Oops_, he probably should have warned his friend what he was doing. It was quite clear he wasn't getting anywhere anyway, so he opened all his fins and easily regained control.

Bleeding some of their momentum into elevation, they levelled out next to each other. "What you do?" Wanderer asked.

Dreamer angled a little so Wanderer could see him twitch his left tail fin. "Fly with one tail-fin." Wanderer barked a laugh at that, and threw himself into several complex manoeuvres. Well, at least he found his personal maiming amusing.

The guilt bit Dreamer harder than ever. It had been a time of war, they were on opposite sides and Wanderer had done _far_ worse to them, but he still felt bad. It seemed a good time to go through some things; teaching Fishlegs their language – _Dragonese_, he'd called it – had improved his own fluency.

So after rolling on the damp stone of the training arena, more for the pleasant sensation than actually cooling off from their flight, he broached the first topic eating at him. "Before we friends… when you attack this nest… when you grounded–"

"Yes, I know that you. I see you in that dive, smell you on… thing that hit me." Wanderer was giving Dreamer his attention, but he spoke nonchalantly. This really didn't matter to him.

"I know it silly… our nests were fighting, but feel bad for your tail-fin. I very sorry."

Wanderer barely let Dreamer's nose touch the floor before nuzzling under his chin, lifting it in _forgiveness_ and purring _happy, safe_. He'd known in his head Wanderer wasn't angry or upset about it, but this helped him to accept it in his heart.

Belatedly he remembered to check for Fishlegs – their conversations were no longer private behind a language barrier – but it was just paranoia, there was nobody peeking over the rim of the ring and none of the Long-Paw smells were fresh. Only Meatlug dozed lazily in her den, her back to them, and Dreamer had learned that their language was much simpler than the Nightstrikers' and she wouldn't understand even if she did eavesdrop.

It still had him a little rattled, so he motioned to their den to take the conversation there. Feeling a bit more secure, tucked away as they were, he had something else nagging at him. "Need know… I… same Dreamer? Not Nightstriker with Dreamer memory? How I change?"

Wanderer paused to think before speaking. "I not know what me, what you. I know I Wanderer, you Dreamer. We friends, fly together always. Not need know more." When he saw this was not enough for Dreamer, he continued. "We not can create new life without female, new body… empty. I think you Dreamer."

As reassuring as it was, Dreamer couldn't shake the idea that he was a copy, just Hiccup's memories plastered over a Nightstriker shell. He tried to put that thought aside, but felt it lurking in the back of his mind. As it had been for a while already, he realised.

He shuffled up to nestle under Wanderer's wing, not unlike he had in the last few days they'd spent in the cove before his sire had returned. The nights he'd slept under dragon wing had been the most restful and peaceful he'd ever known as Hiccup, and he needed some of that comfort now. _Whoever I am, I am me,_ he told himself. He could almost believe it.

…

"Wait, _we?_ I can make new body?"

_Chuff_. "You Nightstriker now. I not see why not."

Dreamer wasn't sure he wanted to know… but… "How?"

Wanderer crooned thoughtfully. "Nightstrikers learn when firelings… You not have hatchling-mind, but you hatchling Nightstriker. One night, when you ready, I tell." That was both frustrating and a relief.

It was still light, but they'd been flying hard, Wanderer was purring _sleep_ and lightly grooming him, and it felt so good to obey his heavy eyelids…

* * *

Reclining in a creaky armchair and shuffling to comfortably fit his bones against the wood, Mildew allowed himself a small smile. What he had set in motion for tonight was just the beginning, in a few weeks he would have the whole village riled up enough that he could kill those unholy abominations himself and be celebrated for it, just like the old days.

They had seemed unfazed by having their filthy nest painted in hostile smells, or they were just particularly stubborn beasts. Perhaps the eel had been a bit far, but those brats somehow seemed wary and had been limiting his access. Well, it was a riskless play, no harm done. Ohh, to be ten years younger, he would have simply skewered the scaly rats and tossed the bodies into the sea, but these days he wasn't spry enough to be dodging fireballs.

No matter. He could whisper from the shadows, putting voice to the dark thoughts that everyone still harboured towards the beasts, and have others do the dirty work for him. There would be nothing linking him to events.

He laced his fingers behind his head and watched the door, waiting patiently for Stoick the Dimwit to blunder in with a list of allegations and no evidence.

* * *

There was the usual racket in the fuggy Great Hall while dinner was served, but long years of carrying water buckets during dragon raids honed the ability to pick up one very specific word over any din.

"Fire!"

Similarly, the appropriate response was drilled in deep, and even after all this time Astrid had vaulted the table and was halfway out the huge doors before she consciously processed what was going on. The thick smoke was the first thing she saw, lit from below by the torches down the path, and as she neared she could see the hazy light spilling from the open door of a small storehouse.

Grabbing a bucket from the nearest fire station, she muttered a curse as she found the barrel empty. They'd gotten lazy with no fires to fight. She blasphemed at the second station, and the third, but finally at the fourth station she knocked on the barrel and was rewarded by a dull _dok_. "Water here!" she shouted, grimacing at her shrill voice. Thankfully she didn't need to shriek orders too, _everyone_ had been on fire duty at some point and knew what to do.

She quickly handed out buckets, filling them in moments from the broad tap and there was soon a steady stream of people rushing back and forth. Those in nearby homes were also pulling out any water they had on hand.

After filling countless buckets and all but draining the barrel, the trail of people stopped, and she stretched her stiff back before striding back to investigate. Stoick was already there, towering over a balding man, so Astrid did her best to peer inside at the damage.

Thick smoke billowed around inside, but what she could see of the small storehouse did not look good. It had taken too long to get the water, and the fire had spread quickly. The damage was worst where a pile of weapons had been – now just hiltless lumps of black iron next to a charred hole in the wall – but had spread to the barrels of preserved meats. Some of the barrels had split and spilled their contents to the ground to be ruined by the flames, thankfully there was no shortage these days but it had still been good food.

"Astrid," her name piqued her attention just before Stoick's giant hand rested on her shoulder. "You better handle this one."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, but nodded and strode to the man he'd been interrogating, doing her best to mimic Stoick's chiefly authority. She seemed to manage, the man was slightly taller than her and twice as broad but eyed her uncertainly as she approached. She stopped a pace away, folded her arms, and stared at him expectantly.

He didn't speak, just pointed at a nearby house. It took her a moment, but she quickly picked out the four bright green eyes staring from the roof.

"You saw them?" she growled, but he only nodded and remained silent. She continued staring, making a slight motion with her hand for him to proceed, but he stared flatly back at her. _This is going nowhere…_ She stopped trying to mimic Stoick and threw on her own brand of authority, one borne of working with dragons and better suited to the heat starting to boil through her body. "Give me your own words for it," she snarled, setting her stance and bristling.

"I… saw them enter… blue lights… they flamed it," he stammered, thrown off by the sudden change.

"Hah, ac–" Fishlegs started, Astrid hadn't even seen him there, but she whirled her ire towards him and he cut off, going white.

"Anybody else see it?" she called to the crowd, and a few hands went up. "Over here." She waved them all towards a clear space opposite the storehouse with her axe – she couldn't even remember drawing it – and spoke in a slow seriousness but remained offensively postured. "You all give your word that you saw the two Night Furies set fire to this storehouse, as accounted by this man?" She pointed her axe to the first witness.

They were all a little less sure, being put on the spot like this, but none of them moved away. She eyed over the four men and two women, knowing their type; old, grizzled, mangy hair, tattered clothes, most sporting missing limbs or hideous scars or both. One of the women had hollow, sunken eyes. Astrid didn't like to be prejudiced, but these people all had signs of being hurt by dragons, and being from smaller clans or no clan at all. The same type she'd been dealing with constantly while integrating Stormfly and the other dragons into the village.

"Everyone who housed the Furies over winter, there," she pointed down one direction of the street, "and everyone else over there," she pointed the other direction. People were confused, but moved quickly enough when they met her gaze.

There were maybe twenty people present who had hosted the dragons, including many of her own family, and she addressed them directly. "Have any of you seen the two Night Furies use their fire at all?" Aside from a stiff shuffling to her side, there was dead silence. "Stoick?" His eyebrows went up and he shook his head. Astrid stole a glance at the 'witnesses' and stifled a sadistic grin. "Has _anyone_ seen them use their fire?" she called, turning to the third group. Silence. "_Now_, Fishlegs."

"Right, um, well, as many of you know they almost froze in the stable when winter came, Hiccup got very sick as a result. If they'd had their fire that wouldn't have been a problem. We do know from last year–" He had the decency to pause and look abashed at that that, "–uh, other dragons can flame right after hatching or shortly afterwards, but Night Furies are a whole other class. So much about them is just so different, they're developing much more slowly and right now it looks like neither of them can flame anything."

"I know what I saw," the first witness sneered. It was a safe bluff, proving the dragons _couldn't_ do something was near impossible.

She needed to bluff bigger. She took a deep breath, quenching her rage at these blatant lies, and casually spun her axe in her hands. "Look, just make this easier on yourselves. We know they wouldn't do it, and we know they _couldn't_ do it. We also know who's been stirring up trouble for them, and this," she waved her axe at the storehouse, "is a _serious_ crime, as is false accusation _even_ to a dragon.

She started talking more cheerfully. "So, tell you what, you tell us what _actually_ happened, who put you up to it, because I _know_ you guys didn't come up with this, and you'll be scrubbing pots for the rest of spring. _Or_, you stick to your story, and _when_ this comes crashing down around you we'll float you out to sea on a raft."

Silence.

_Ugh_. Astrid took a few steps to the side and made a covert signal with her hand, and two and a half thousand pounds of hissing dragon dropped out of the night to slam into a low crouch next to her.

"Mildew!" one of the men shrieked. _Works every time._

The woman with sunken eyes decked him. "She threa'ens us with a _dragon_, the very thing we're fightin', and you sell us out!?"

"I didn't sign up for exile!" he roared back, shoving her away. "And at least we aint _dyin'_ to 'em anymore!"

Astrid tuned out the spat and let Spitelout take it from there, returning to Stoick. "I, er, hope I didn't overstep my bounds there sir…" she mumbled quietly.

"A little," he conceded, "but you got results. Good work. Fishlegs!" They waited for the boy to waddle over. "We're going to pay the old wart a visit, and I might need yeh as witness."

"Now?" Fishlegs squeaked. Astrid shrugged at him.

* * *

"Water," Dreamer repeated, dipping a claw into the bowl sat next to him on the table, dimly lit by the daylight streaming in through the open door.

"Sea," gurgled Fishlegs.

Dreamer shook his paw and motioned towards the door. "Sea." He dipped his claw back into the bowl. "Water."

Fishlegs scratched his head and made a few more notes, then successfully repeated, "Water." _Finally_.

"Yes," Dreamer chuffed, unable to keep the relief from his expression, then lapped from the bowl – this was thirsty work – and said "Drink."

"Water-food."

Dreamer groaned. It felt like they'd been at this for hours, as they had for many days, and while they were making excellent progress overall it was starting to wear. "We rest," he mumbled, and scooted over to annoy the lazy Wanderer.

Teaching Dragonese to Fishlegs had its updrafts and turbulence, Long-Paws couldn't easily make some of the required sounds and in some cases differentiating between different sounds was difficult for the boy. Today it was worse than usual, Fishlegs was antsy about something and kept getting distracted. He was now mumbling to himself, a confusing tangle of emotions saying _sorry, concern, uncertainty, resolve, fear_. Something had him shaken up. Maybe that thing with the storehouse? He'd left with Astrid on Stormfly, and Meatlug had been gone when the Nightstrikers returned to their den, but that had been days ago and he'd been fine until today.

_Not much to do about it_, Dreamer thought and busied himself with tickling Wanderer's _adorable_ little paws to rouse him from his dozing; punishment for abstaining from all the work. Dreamer returned the tired glare with an innocent smile.

Wanderer got up to raid the food basket, snapping down some fish and bringing back a few to drop on the table. After gulping them down, Dreamer rested his head on his paws with a sigh and started to doze off. He could really do with a nap, apparently his fledgling body required a lot of rest, but Fishlegs was still talking and something about the _trepidation_ in his voice attracted attention.

"…ard Stoyk whans too dcok yuor tial fnss sohh wee cn trian yoo lihk Too'hsss."

…

Dreamer's eyes snapped open.


	6. Assertion

_And Stoick wants to dock your tail fins so we can train you like Toothless_

Panic seized control and Dreamer vaulted to his paws – instantly realising his mistake as Fishlegs rounded on him, staring in a mix of disbelief, bewilderment, and anger. Wanderer had also bounced up, reacting to the sudden tension, and was growling a warning with his claws digging into the table.

"Queit, Too'hess," Fishlegs snapped without taking his eyes off Dreamer, and the growl snagged and silenced.

The blood drained from Dreamer's limbs as reality sank in, and his head swam in the abrupt crash from his adrenaline high. Swaying, he raised a paw to his head. "H… How?"

Fishlegs rolled his eyes. "Yoo're lfft hadned," he growled, pointing at Dreamer's paw, his _left_ paw, still held to his head. "T'en… ay _llohtt_ hof 'hingsss."

Dreamer squeezed his eyes shut and pawed at his ear, then drew mock runes in the air. Fishlegs nodded darkly and fetched a sheet of parchment and a pot of ink, practically throwing them at the table.

Still struggling to stay steady, Dreamer winced and dipped a claw in the ink.

EARS SENSITIVE. PLEASE TALK SLOWLY AND

…He paused, the word 'calmly' would likely… not have the desired effect.

FLATLY

Fishlegs glowered, but then took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. Dreamer started breathing again; the boy had an _enormous_ presence when riled. "Hel's bluhdy nikkers Hiccarp, whyy didnn't youu _telll_ anneewahn? Theyy alll thhinkk youu aar deadd."

The parchment was awkward to write on and limited in size, so he used Dragonese when he could. "They not understand. They–" FEAR DRAGON MAGIC. "We not know–" HOW THEY WOULD REACT.

The glower turned into a scowl. "Thattss nott youur caall too maek. Theyy _haff_ too knoww."

"No!" The word was made by swiping a paw sideways, and Dreamer's claws left thick gouges in the table. He dipped his head to the side in a short _apology_ and repeated himself less destructively.

"Wai?" Fishlegs shouted a little too loudly, throwing his arms up.

WHY TELL? "I not think I–" CAN BE TURNED BACK.

His claws were awkward and he had to write large and rough, so he was already out of space. He flipped the parchment and started scratching out each rune. "You know. You feel good for know?" he asked while he worked.

"Ay darnno!" he exclaimed, but seeing Dreamer cringe he took another deep breath to calm himself. "Wee gavfe yuor body a sendawff. Yourr daad wass _devfasstated_."

Finished, he licked his claw clean – blegh – and tapped the runes. NOW HE IS HEALING AND KNOWING THIS WON'T HELP.

"Baat haow did 'hiss evfenn _khapppenn!?_"

QUIET AND FLAT, he tapped out slowly before pawing his ear again. I HATCHED LIKE THIS WITH NO MEMORY. GOT IT BACK BEFORE WI–

"Whenn you appeared…" Fishlegs mumbled. It seemed backwards that the quieter he talked, the easier he was to understand.

YES. THAT IS ALL I KNOW. It was pretty clear who had changed him, but he felt it best not to personally incriminate Wanderer. PLEASE DON'T SAY. "Please."

Fishlegs let out a wordless and frustrated sound. "_Fiyne._ Ay'll thinkk abowt it."

_No no no_, if Stoick found out… TELL ANYONE … WE LEAVE.

"Yoo woodent! Yeew _could't!_"

He just stared at the boy determinedly until he slumped and massaged his head. Wanderer was still anxiously looking between them so Dreamer stepped over to nuzzle him, crooning _safe_.

"Yoo guys arr… _orfully_ cloes…"

He pulled the parchment over. WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH A LOT.

Fishlegs gave him a flat look, _no duh_.

"No say me. Please."

"Fiiiiiyne. Stihl thinkk youu shood telll Astrehd at leest."

IT BETTER EVERYONE THINKS I AM IN VALHALLA. I AM A NIGHT FURY NOW. LET ME HAVE THIS.

"Yoo… _whan_ too bee ay Naight Fyoory?"

Dreamer shrugged, as best he could manage with four legs and no arms. I AM ONE NOW.

Nodding slowly, Fishlegs pulled out a small notebook and reluctantly set it on the table. Dreamer flipped it open to the first page to find a decent sketch of him and Wanderer playing. In the drawing he was holding up a paw, and the words 'LEFT HANDED' were carefully scratched next to it.

It listed events that happened before then, as early as when he'd opened the door after first appearing in the village. Things Dreamer innately knew but Wanderer didn't and vice versa. These were all Fishlegs' notes on a crazy idea he couldn't get out of his head.

His eyes widened as he really understood what he had been given, not only all the evidence but a way to understand how to better hide his identity. He probably wouldn't need it – Fishlegs was in a unique position of intelligence, imagination, and familiarity – but it would be wise to be cautious.

"Thank you," he warbled – without the nuzzle – but Fishlegs waved it off. He closed the book and grabbed it in one of his hind-paws for safekeeping. Hmm, he might as well use this opportunity to explain a few things. "We get fire at five." WE WILL APPARENTLY WANT TO LEAVE BERK THEN.

Fishlegs' raised an eyebrow. "Goeng tu finde sohm laydey drahguns?"

Dreamer smacked himself in the face. "No."

"Yoor dhad whants you too stay, wants yoo trianed. Hees insisstent. What do ay tell heem?"

His earlier panic flared again, and he protectively tucked his tail in behind his forelegs. "He not…?" It was a massive relief when the boy shook his head… but that had been a _really_ dirty trick. Clamping down on a growl, he considered the question. "Say we can talk. Say when we get fire." IF IMPORTANT YOU KNOW WE'LL HELP BUT WE ARE _NOT PETS_. He put enough emphasis on the last two words that he punctured the parchment.

"Thass… ffair," Fishlegs nodded.

I DO NOT WANT TO LEAVE, BUT INSTINCT MAYBE, AND I OWE HIM, he nodded at Wanderer, MORE THAN I OWE BERK.

"_Tooth'hess?_ But–…" Dreamer wasn't sure if it was his realisation that cut him off, or Wanderer's short indignant growl at his old name. Either way he remained quiet.

…TOLD HIM HIS NAME. HE IS WANDERER, "Wanderer," I AM … DREAMER. "…Dreamer."

It felt strange to announce his new name, and Fishlegs was staring blankly at the parchment with his head resting on his fingertips. This was clearly getting a bit much for them both, time to wrap things up. NORSE HARD TO HEAR. LEARN DRAGONESE. He then dug his claws into the parchment and crumpled it in his paw. Letting the objections bounce off him unintelligibly, he just tilted his head with his frills out until Fishlegs crossed his arms with a grumble.

Remembering the writing on the back, Dreamer hopped down to the floor and poked the corner of the parchment into the fire so that it burned in his paw. He stared at the flames licking his scales, still incredulous at his fire resistance. That just left the book, still in his hind-claws, which he had to read first.

He needed to digest all this himself so padded over to the door, the book a little awkward under his paw, and warbled a farewell. Fishlegs just glared sourly off to the side; did he even realise this was _exactly_ the reason nobody should know? _Hopefully he'll come around_, Dreamer thought to himself as he stepped out into the bright sunlight, Wanderer following a little closer than usual.

They flapped over the docks and into the training ring, Dreamer awkwardly landing directly in their little cave. He looked at the notebook, but it put a vile feeling in his gut so he tucked it away out of sight for now. _Hopefully… this won't change anything_…

* * *

"Daffnut, _what_ did I tell you about pulling ears," Tuffnut scolded his cousin from where he sat cross-legged on the ground. Toothy didn't seem to mind the toddlers' curious hands, and playfully nudged the laughing boy to the grass to lick his face, but it was probably best to discourage certain habits. A second child roared an impressive challenge and charged, and the three chased each other in a medley of playful and happy shouts.

The third toddler happily climbed over Hiccup, who was staring vacantly into the distance. "Hey Hiccy, you alright? You normally love this." The dragon blinked and stared at him a moment, then seemed to notice the burbling little girl hugging his neck. "C'mon, come tell me about it," he cooed, beckoning.

Hiccup gently freed himself of the child and hesitantly padded over, allowing himself to be scooped up and bundled into Tuffnut's lap. Sometimes he had these little episodes and just needed some reassurance, though he'd been growing steadily since winter and now barely fit. "There there, you're okay," Tuffnut murmured, protectively hunching over his charge as it curled up. Rather than whimper or purr, however, Hiccup fidgeted uncomfortably for a few moments then backed out. He gave his head a shake and stared apologetically. "Okay… Take all the time you need little guy. I'm here for you, alright?"

The little Fury chuffed quietly at him and shook out his wings, but seemed to change his mind and folded them back up. When Toothy pulled himself past, dragging two laughing boys hanging from his tail, he changed his mind again and took off.

"Guh, guh, guh… Dwaaagon! Come gaaak!" cried the little girl, staring after him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tuffnut saw Toothy shake off the boys and spread his wings. "No, Toothy, leave him be," he called, and the dragon paused. "He needs time to himself for now. _Yes_ that includes from you." The grumbling Fury tucked away his wings and trotted to the sad little girl to snuffle her face. "Hey! Don't you give me attitude, mister."

Toothy's response was to get his head under the girl, lift her up, and deposit the now giggling child into Tuffnut's lap. "Oh, _thanks_. What am I supposed to do with this?" But she seemed happy enough to watch Toothy chase the boys around, so Tuffnut awkwardly set her down next to him and they both watched the dragon play.

* * *

Stoick sighed, leaning on his elbow to rub his head; his eyes were suddenly taking offense to the afternoon sunlight streaming through the door. He had been expecting something like this since Johann's departure, but hoped they'd at least have more time. "Get everyone using a bow. _Everyone_ who can draw. Have the fletchers working overtime–"

"Fletch_er,_" Spitelout corrected, and Stoick sighed again. Arrows weren't much use against dragons so they'd never bothered with them for more than hunting.

"Get him an apprentice or however many he needs. I want thirty arrows for every warrior. And make sure they've all got bows."

"Yeh can't be serious–"

"_Deadly_," Stoick growled.

Spitelout rocked back a little. "Are yeh _tha'_ sure? 'Cause tha's six _thousand_ arrows, and Johann's not due back fer months. Unless we raid the south, we'll have ter start meltin' _weapons_ for tha' much iron."

Stoick hadn't needed a block of ice for a headache since the dragons stopped attacking, but tonight he might need a few.

A quiet knock on the door had them both look up to find Fishlegs standing in the doorway, and Stoick stood up to greet him before his eyes could adjust. "Ah, Fishlegs, good to see you. How goes it with the Furies?" He led him to stand a short distance from the house while they talked.

When the boy spoke it was with weight beyond his years, and there was none of his usual eagerness. He sounded exhausted. "…Good. I can talk to him. _Them_. We can talk to each other. If we need them to do something, I can just ask."

Stoick eyed him, _this_ was his big project? It was _incredible_, but for being able to _talk to dragons_ it was a wonder his feet were still on the ground. "Are you okay lad?"

"Yeah… Just…" There was a long pause before he spoke again. "Just tired. We made some breakthroughs yesterday. He's–… They're as smart as people. More or less… Not only do we not need to train them, I don't think we even can. Or should."

"You're right," Stoick sighed, "I should have known that. I'm sorry. But even when I gave you an impossible task, you found a way to _pull it off_. I can't tell you how proud you should be."

"…Yeah… That's the other thing. They can't shoot fire for another four _years_."

Stoick's breath caught in his throat. He'd had no intention of actually _using_ the Furies, only if absolutely necessary and even then from a safe distance, but it was another arrow in the quiver. It just… had no arrowhead… _Hmm_. "Alright then. Get some rest, then come see me in a few days. Bring Astrid, I've got another job for you."

Fishlegs nodded and shuffled off, and Stoick returned to his house. "Ah hope you got better news from him," Spitelout said casually, resolving into form as eyes adjusted to the darkness again.

"You could say that," Stoick laughed quietly, "he can talk to dragons."

Spitelout's eyebrows disappeared behind his helmet. "Ohhh, so we got a bona fide _dragon whisperer_ now? Well _that'll_ come in handy." Stoick wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic, or come to think of it, whether he was right.

"Maybe… Let's pay the fletcher a visit." He took a last moment to examine the damp sheet of sail laid out on the table, sporting the Berk crest cloven neatly in two.

* * *

Wanderer lay the fish on the floor of their den. "Eat."

"I not hungry," Dreamer grumbled back.

Wanderer nudged the fish a little closer, then nudged Dreamer until he raised his head. "Two nights, you not eat… Please…"

Dreamer sniffed the fish, but grimaced and curled up again. "Not can eat."

Whining worriedly, Wanderer pulled the fish back a bit. "Other food? Land-prey? Small-ground-prey?"

"No."

It was trickier as a fledgling, but Wanderer started pulling up his own dinner. The partly digested fish would be much easier on a sore stomach, but when Dreamer growled he let it slide back down. Whining again, Wanderer nestled in next to him and gently nuzzled his shoulder.

"Go fly," Dreamer mumbled as he lethargically shuffled away. "I… I rest."

Wanderer let out another whine. "I come back soon. Say if want anything." The groaned response was both _sad-pain_ and _pain-sad_. He padded slowly to the mouth of the den, giving Dreamer a long, concerned look from the threshold, then shook his wings out and jumped into the air.

His eyes squeezed shut against the wind. He just wished he knew what was wrong, it hurt so much to watch Dreamer like this.

_Deep breaths_… The cool air filled Wanderer's lungs, and he opened his eyes to find himself a little further from the nest than he'd thought he was. He didn't even notice his wings make the adjustments to turn him back, his mind was somewhere further up in the thin air. He barely even noticed the Long-Paw-tree-thing floating from the small-land, or the flames dancing on it.

The smaller Nightstriker didn't _smell_ sick, he just looked and sounded it. Last light Wanderer's presence and affection had seemed to comfort Dreamer, and he'd done his best to show as much as he could. He even managed to snag a few blades of sweet-grass from the field, but it'd had no effect and things had only grown more turbulent since. This light, Dreamer had pushed away all attempts to comfort him. _Deep breaths…_

…Hrrmm, the fire on the tree-thing was getting bigger. Long-Paws didn't normally like fire except in certain places, and this wasn't one of those places, but there were Long-Paws lined up and watching from the tree-ground near the water. Curious, and hoping to take his mind off his troubles for a few moments, he drifted down and landed quietly behind the crowd.

Most held their heads high, but all held themselves with some degree of sadness. This must be another strange Long-Paw ritual. He weaved through the forest of legs to the front, looking around at the damp faces staring out to sea, but was soon accosted by a female Long-Paw dropping down next to him and wrapping her forelegs around his neck.

Wanderer fought off the initial panic, knowing this wasn't an attack, and went still when the female began exhaling in short, sharp bursts. This was a Long-Paw very-sad-thing, he remembered, and with so many so sad he could only surmise a nest-kin had died. He offered her a quiet warble, and draped a wing over her shoulders while she grieved. He wasn't all that familiar with Long-Paws, but guessed she was a pawful of cycles older than Dreamer had been. Dreamer, who was now miserable and sick in a way Wanderer didn't understand.

He leaned into the Long-Paw, drawing small comfort from her even as she drew it from him, and they watched the flames in the warm glow of the fading sky-fire until the water consumed them.

The Long-Paw's breathing slowly became steady, and she stayed with him when everybody else started moving. With a purr of _gratitude_ laced with _sorrow_, she stood and followed the last of the other Long-Paws. Strangely, the overall mood had changed and was instead now mostly _happy_ and _excited_, though still with solemn undertones. Wanderer thought he picked out a few of the words they had for food as well. It made him curious about the Long-Paw ritual, maybe he should ask Dreamer about it.

His head hung and his wings drooped. If this was that a nest-kin had died, it would likely not help Dreamer to know of it…

Wanderer stretched out his wings and took off, wheeling a few times in the darkening sky before swooping back to the den. Both Dreamer and the fish were exactly where he left them. He snapped up the fish himself – no sense letting it rot – and sidled up as close to Dreamer as he could without actually touching him. When there was no response to a gentle nuzzle, Wanderer sighed and rested his head on his paws, waiting for sleep to claim him. All he could do was show Dreamer he was there for him.

* * *

Dreamer wasn't _hiding_, exactly… He just found the bustling breakfasts in the smoky Great Hall a bit of a comfort to observe. From atop a shadowy support brace near the ceiling. He just felt a little uneasy with the attention Wanderer was trying to give him was all, he really wasn't hungry for the fish he brought, and he really didn't find the grooming relaxing.

At least the worst was behind him. For nearly three days he'd eaten nothing and barely had the strength to relieve himself outside the den. That was just over a week ago. Now he was managing a moderate fish at noon, when his stomach was a little more settled, and that kept him full for the rest of the day. Well, he felt full, though he knew he should really be eating three times that at the bare minimum. He just… couldn't. His body told him it was full and refused to accept more, even as it starved and withered.

He didn't want to cuddle, he didn't want to play, he didn't even want to fly. What he wanted was to work the forge, to invent and tinker, Hel at this point he'd be happy just sharpening a pile of weapons and bantering with Gobber. That was how he'd dealt with these feelings before; force himself to do something productive, that _needed_ doing for the good of the village. Now he felt more useless than ever. _Ha ha ha, look at Hiccup the Useless, got himself turned into a dragon, can't even sharpen a knife anymore. He did enough damage trying to be a Viking, what can he break trying to be a dragon?_

The looks he got from Fishlegs were… understandable. Dreamer would feel very awkward cooing and doting over any of the other teens even if they _were_ in a different body. He wondered why he'd felt so comfortable _being_ doted on so far._ You two are awfully close…_ The words probably weren't meant to be judgemental, and Dreamer tried not to take it personally, but he groaned and cringed at all the nuzzling and licking he'd done. He'd just been behaving like any dragon, but… What did Fishlegs think of the big lick Dreamer had given him over winter? Of him and Toothless grooming each other every night? What did he think of Toothless, knowing what he'd done?

_Why couldn't I have just told someone when I got my memory back. It would have been better, for everyone…_ He tried to imagine Astrid's response, telling him to pick himself back up, but it was becoming less and less effective. It just took so much energy trying to be happy, and he wasn't sure he could be bothered anymore. It was no one thing, really, that had his gut sucking out all his strength and his skin itching from stress. It was a pile of little things all adding up, and Fishlegs violently piercing his bubble of anonymity had been the trigger.

Around and around he went, a wild maelstrom of thoughts with no reprieve. It was so frustrating. Logically he knew nothing had changed, he was still a cute baby dragon and nobody, other than now Fishlegs, knew who he was. And yet, just that one piece of knowledge with one person had completely shattered his peace with himself. At least the realisation that he was left-handed, even before getting his memories back, contradicted his irrational fear that he was just a copy of Hiccup's memories. That thought was some small relief even if it didn't entirely banish the doubts.

He flattened himself against the wood and shut his eyes when a dark shape passed through the doors of the Great Hall, but in vain. Wanderer flapped up and gave his head a brief nuzzle, ignoring the groan it elicited. "Good winds... Come fly…?"

Dreamer grunted and let his wings drop to either side of the brace. When there was silence, he glanced up at– _oh no that was a mistake_. But it was too late, he couldn't look away. Toothless was hunched over and _pleading_ him with enormous green eyes, just a touch of sadness in his hopeful expression, and his paws shuffled on the narrow beam. Just like he'd done in the cove, but now being a tenth of the size it was, as predicted, ten times stronger.

"Nngaah_,"_ Dreamer responded, trying to resist.

_Whiiine_

"Nnngggg…"

_Whiiiiiiiiiine…_

_Alright, alright, just turn that off_. He rose shakily and pushed the stupid adorable face away, then flexed and stretched his weary wings. Wanderer bobbed excitedly on the beam, though he couldn't hide the concern in his expression. _Sorry, my friend, I don't mean to worry you_…

Dreamer glided down to the floor of the hall, padded through the doors and into the muted light. He didn't have the energy to run or jump, so just walked off the top step – a firm wind blowing up the village instantly launched him into the air, and in moments Berk was far below. _Woah_, these _were_ good winds, he didn't even really need to flap or anything.

Within minutes, however, he was sorely regretting everything and hung morosely from his wings. The endless clouds high above had started emptying their contents in a fine misting rain, and it fell in a great blanket from which there was no escape. He had to admit it was interesting watching it swirl in the eddies behind Wanderer and it allowed him to identify turbulence, but it was cold and wet and stung his eyes. Not nearly as much as when he'd been human, but it was still uncomfortable.

Even so, he easily spotted the long procession that was snaking away from the village and toward the great mountain in the centre of the main island. He watched from high above as they painstakingly made their way over bridges and up ramps, most likely towards the sacred grove where acts were witnessed by the gods. _What in Thor's name…?_

Eager for an excuse to be out of the air, he glided in for a closer look. At the head of the procession he picked out the hulking figure of his father, the unique figure of Gothi, and a dark-haired man who was probably Spitelout. After them a weedy figure hobbled along between two guards, and an assortment of villagers trailed behind.

This didn't bode well. Dreamer glided as close as he dared, maintaining a respectful distance and noting Wanderer at his side, but everyone bowed their heads to the rain. He could see none of their faces. The prisoner in particular wore no helmet, but was hunched over and his long grey hair was plastered to his face and neck.

The Night Furies accompanied the procession to the grove and lurked behind the treeline, if anyone spotted them there was no complaint. Dreamer idly fantasised about waiting on the statues of Thor and Hel, but it would ruin their image of 'just' wild dragons – more than he'd done already – and it remained a fantasy.

It was strange, he felt he was intruding on this event though he had every right to be there as either the Chief's son or as a wild force of nature, whichever he chose to identify with. He couldn't bring himself to leave anyway, not if it meant going back to squinting through the rain.

Wanderer brushed against him to get his attention. "What happening?"

"Not know. Place for… important things. That Long-Paw," he gestured to the one in chains, "do bad maybe." He had a sinking feeling, he couldn't remember much about rituals that took place here but whatever the case it likely wasn't good.

The grove was in the centre of a low flat on the mountain, unusually clear of ferns and undergrowth. Patches of small white flowers dotted the short grass, and there were no wildlife tracks as it was unreachable by ground until a wide ramp was hoisted up. The only sounds were the rustling of the canopy, and the insects and small birds flitting through it. The whole place felt pristine and tranquil.

In the centre of the flat was a great gnarled tree, said to have been a branch of Yggdrasil planted by the original settlers of Berk. Statues of the Aesir lined up either side of it to form a half-circle, the focal point of which received the prisoner while Stoick, Gothi and Spitelout stood in front of the sacred tree.

Dreamer padded to one side of the rows forming in front of the ceremony, trying to posture that he had every right to be there, and Wanderer followed his lead. The man's head snapped up to latch his fiery eyes onto them, and he spat and snarled _hate, rage, threats,_ like some rabid beast. Dreamer still didn't recognise him, though perhaps he should given _this_ reaction. The tirade only ended when Spitelout cuffed him.

Several people stepped forward and spoke, but it was all incoherent under the din of the water dripping through the green canopy and to the ground. A trial maybe? Certain cases may be brought before the gods to hear.

Stoick growled and barked _anger, betrayal_ and sometimes _strength_, but Dreamer kept losing the hard sounds among the background noise and could only make out the occasional word. When Stoick turned away and faced the crowd they jeered and shouted, the bound man just scowling back at them.

Growling something quietly, Stoick turned back to the prisoner.

"Ohhhhhh, uss geio iyi," Dreamer heard him mutter unintelligibly, but it was that groan that got his attention – _Mildew_. Without his helmet or staff, and with his hair plastered flat by the rain, he was completely unrecognisable. Had they successfully linked him to the storehouse fire? The harassment _had_ stopped, he now realised, but–

That was all Dreamer had time to process before his father, in one swift movement, drew his behemoth of a sword and swung it.

He and Wanderer both gaped. Mildew fell forward and his head rolled, blood spilling over the grass as if from a great red tap, and the stench of it wrinkled their noses even through the drizzle. Dreamer was no stranger to death or killing – he'd hunted, killed and eaten wild game almost all year – but this was somehow different.

When the body finished draining, it and the head were dragged away probably to be dumped somewhere unceremoniously. Many of the attending Vikings spat onto the ground before departing for the long trek back. He realised he didn't recognise many of them, meaning they hadn't wanted to play with the Night Furies and had little to no love for dragons. What had Mildew _done_?

Dreamer felt lightheaded and dizzy. He squeezed his eyes shut and found himself leaning heavily against Wanderer's damp side. The bigger dragon crooned comfortingly and gave him a light nuzzle, and they stayed there like that until the sounds of footsteps faded away. New and suddenly closer footsteps pricked his ears, and he opened his eyes to see Fishlegs approaching.

"Oo oh ee ss th itrooduh, ite?" Dreamer strained his ears, trying to put the pieces together – his spinning head wasn't helping – but all he got was _intruder_.

"He intruder? Yes," he said slowly, then pawed his ear and looked around at the noisy treetops.

Fishlegs spoke a few words, louder and slower, then left Dreamer to sit there in shock.

* * *

Two weeks prior, following the storehouse fire and ensuing 'discussion', Fishlegs could only hear Stormfly struggle with Stoick and Astrid as they all flew through the night. Fishlegs _hated_ flying in the dark, and gripped the saddle for fear of being sucked off into the surrounding darkness.

He tried to recall what he knew of Mildew to keep himself occupied. The old man had joined the tribe a drifter, a nobody, but quickly made his name as an excellent dragon slayer. There was something about him trying to join a clan, or start a new one? But it all fell flat when he failed to produce an heir with three different wives, all of whom perished within a few years. He became an ill omen, and when his age caught up with him and he retired he quickly became a nuisance. Some of the older tribespeople remembered him for his glory days, though everyone seemed to agree he was now generally a miserable person to be around.

His stomach lurched as Meatlug began falling– _descending_, and then they were on sweet sweet land. He might have kissed the grass if he'd forgotten who it belonged to.

Stormfly lit a torch for Astrid, casting an eerie light around them and revealing a dilapidated house nearby. Stoick knocked, and after a short delay the rotting door creaked open.

"Stoick, weeeelcome, please, do come in," said the decrepit old man, his vile voice sarcastically polite. "Can I offer you anything? Water? Ale? The blood of innocent children?"

Ignoring the insult, Stoick ducked through the door and spoke politely but firmly. "Mildew, you stand accused of harassing the dragons against the word of your Chief, and of conspiring to burn down a storehouse. What say you?"

Fishlegs did his best to tune out the whining old man's denials – every slimy word was like venom in his ears – and idly examined the things hanging on the walls. Four shields… okay, _ew_. Or, ewe? Heh. No, definitely ew. A bunch of dragon… _parts_, despite orders to remove them. A stone wall prominently featured a depiction of Mildew slaying a Monstrous Nightmare with a spear. Above it, a Gronckle head stared sightlessly into the room, which Fishlegs stared at apologetically before moving on.

A glint of metal caught his eye behind a curtain, and he peeked inside to find a tall spear with an enormous arrow head. The one from the painting, he supposed. It looked well maintained, unlike everything else, and interestingly even the hooked undersides of the head were sharpened. _For ripping downwards_, he thought queasily.

Then his eyes got wider. And wider.

"Oi! Don't ya know it's rude to pry, ya little _brat_?" Mildew spat at him, but Fishlegs still wasn't listening. He just pulled the weapon from the little room and wordlessly handed it to Astrid.

"What is it?" Stoick asked tiredly, waving a hand to vainly try to calm Mildew but also blocking him from stalking forward.

Astrid stared at the weapon, much like Fishlegs had. "Sir, have you ever seen the effect an eel has on a dragon?"

"Not… personally, but I've had it described. Why?"

She stood the spear in front of him and held the torch up to it; it barely came up to his chin. Stood like this, however, it was obvious that wrapped tightly around the shaft near the head was an _eel_. What was left of it. The skin was dry and shrivelled, and had peeled back from the jaw – it had been there a _lot_ longer than a year.

A tense silence settled over the room. Fishlegs could only imagine the effectiveness of the weapon, wave it at a dragon and it would be rearing back, creating openings to strike as well as protecting the wielder. And now that he was thinking about it, _how was this house so old?_ Old enough to rot through the timbers in places. _Every other _building on Berk had been rebuilt at least once in the last decade.

"You knew," Stoick said quietly to the spear, then more firmly to Mildew, "You _knew_, and didn't tell the rest of us."

"It's no' like I 'id it!" Mildew crowed. "It was in plain sight fer everyone ter see."

But Stoick was _done_, and grabbed the sack of stains to effortlessly toss him outside. "I charge you, Mildew no-clan, with _treason_."

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_Woah. I was unprepared for that response xD_

_First thing's first, absolutely nobody (publicly) called Fishlegs' intentions with that statement, but there are some honourable mentions:_  
_\- Fortean (AO3) - Predicted by chapter 4 that Dreamer's memories would get him into trouble and that he'd have to confront his humanity._  
_\- toothlessgolfer (FFN) - Didn't take the statement at face value._  
_\- Ethan Joseph (FFN/PM) - Pointed out that this was quite out of character for Stoick._

_I'll admit I'm guilty of a little misdirection here, but originally it felt the statement was WILDLY out of nowhere so I added a few little thoughts for Stoick to at least give it some credibility. I wonder if I was a little too obvious with that and too subtle with the hints of what Fishlegs was picking up, but the responses I got reaffirmed Dreamer's own reaction and for that I am pleased._

_Now, I know this wasn't the dark twist that apparently everyone was expecting, but hopefully it's still dark enough (albeit in a different way) that you guys don't feel let down by it. I want you all to know that this chapter was reshaped heavily over the last week to reflect the feedback I got, and I'd really like to thank everyone who commented, theorised and discussed it with me. You guys are awesome, it really helped me nail down how I wanted this chapter to feel, though it did end up somewhat short._

_On a slightly different subject, Mildew... Heh, this played out kind of strangely. The whole thing was a step towards Fishlegs' Dragonese, and another layer of conflict on a fractured Dreamer. When I wrote the scene in Mildew's hut it led on from the storehouse fire, so we already knew the result. t kind of busted the mystery in the grove scene so I moved it to after that. I then decided the whole thing was out of nowhere, and added the foreshadowing in chapter 4. It was never really meant to be a plot, but it sort of turned into one that then ends abruptly. I can't say I'm particularly happy with that but it was too ingrained by the time I wanted to change it. To be honest though I am happy to have him out of the way, and I'm okay with leaving this as another unexpected twist in a very turbulent chapter. Fret not, we have some proper plots looming (in case you haven't picked up on that yet)._


	7. Perspective

_**Author's Notes**_

_I forgot to mention last chapter that I didn't really want to have Fishlegs find out, and I agree a story with a dragon Hiccup where nobody knows his identity would be cool. However, Fishlegs has always had a crazy imagination and is very perceptive, but fails to apply his thoughts practically (that's Hiccup's job normally). The more I thought about it, the less I could convince myself Fishlegs wouldn't notice something, and it lent itself nicely to the story both here and in the future.  
_

_But it does appear I was a little too subtle with his thought process, so now let's hear his side of the story. There's also one more piece to why he's obsessing that he hasn't realised yet, can anyone guess? There's a lot of subtle hints in this chapter too, as always, so keep an eye out for them ;)_

* * *

"The physical vocabulary of Gronckles does not appear to be hindered by their stout nature, small wings and short tails, however the limited range of movement does restrict the communication of tone and emotion. Gronckles are therefore prone to overcompensate with their movements and expressions when communicating, although this may be an adaptation when nesting with… other species."

The wood flexed in Fishlegs' fingers as he was reminded of the few times he was sure he had seen Meatlug talking to another dragon. A pair of dragons, specifically. He took a deep breath, gently brushed off the stray flakes of charcoal, and closed the book. After setting it to one side he picked up the next from his pile of projects, the new Book of Dragons to which he had been adding–… It went aside a little more forcefully.

He'd been hoping to keep his mind occupied and away from his recent discovery, but so much of what he did involved dragons and kept looping his thoughts back. The rest didn't engage his mind enough to keep it distracted. He slumped back in his chair with a groan and rubbed his eyes, again wondering why this had him so shaken, besides the apparent magical rebirth.

Hiccup wasn't a person any sane Viking would consider a 'friend', but Fishlegs considered him more of a friend than anyone else had. They'd had similarly sharp minds and could bounce ideas off each other for hours – when assured privacy – and were both fascinated with dragons. Well, Hiccup with killing one, not the knowledge Berk had compiled on them. "Kill on sight" was all he saw on most pages of the original Book of Dragons, and he'd been more than happy to oblige. Try to, anyway.

So Fishlegs felt somewhat betrayed by the deception. Not for the first time, he cursed the crazy idea. When he'd seen the Night Fury was left handed over winter, he had initially thought it a curiosity and a funny coincidence, but his stupid overactive imagination considered the timing and promptly put forward the idea they were the same person.

And then he could. Not. Stop. Noticing. Things.

With so many tiny details fuelling that stupid impossible idea, Fishlegs started making notes in the tiniest notebook he could find just to get the thoughts into writing and out of his head. After finding enough evidence to fill the entire thing he realised he needed to do something to disprove it, or go mad. The simple test was supposed to reassure himself, just say something to the dragon, and when there was no reaction he could burn the stupid book and put it behind him.

It was the perfect plan, right up until it had provided irrefutable proof instead of closure. And then they'd held a conversation! The whole thing defied so much logic it made his head spin, and Hiccup was _acting_ so much like a dragon it made him sick. Was he even the same person under those scales?

Fishlegs groaned again, why couldn't he stop picking at this? It'd been two weeks now and his thoughts had barely left him any peace. It was bad enough to consider swiping a small barrel of mead just so he could drink himself into a stupor and get some decent sleep.

This wasn't helping, he should take Meatlug out for a flight. Still dragon-related, but he felt that if he did something a little more reckless than usual it might bring him to his senses. Maybe he could try a small dive. Oh dear, he might be a little hysterical to be considering that.

After packing away his books and snuffing out the candle, Fishlegs stumbled his way through the dark study to the door. He emerged into the house proper, empty for most of the day, and squinted at the light as he stepped outside. He refused to close his eyes, knowing what the bright spots would resolve into – enormous green orbs, impossible to think behind which was a human intelligence, that had stared at him intensely and stirred a primal wariness.

And after Hiccup had hunched protectively over his tail, desperately hoping Stoick didn't actually want to maim him… his expression had turned downright _frightening_. His eyes had shrunk to vertical black slits in his fierce green irises, and his lips curled back to show just how sharp _all_ his teeth were; they tended to be sheathed when not eating, playing, or apparently threatening. Thankfully Fishlegs had been a little too high on adrenaline and disbelief at the time to notice being scared witless.

A lump rose in his throat. He did now regret choosing that _particular_ statement, but he'd never expected it to actually work! And he wouldn't have needed to if Hiccup had have just told him in the first place. But no, he was having too much fun cosying up to Astrid – and _Tuffnut!?_ – and living off free meals.

With a curse he tripped over a rock that had been unearthed on the path to the training ring, and kicked it over the cliff a few paces away. Argh, he couldn't stop his thoughts returning to those horrific teeth. A killer's teeth, for grabbing and shredding. They were far removed from what he thought of as Hiccup.

…What _did_ he think of as 'Hiccup'? Stubborn, reckless, enthusiastic, scrawny, playful, he still had those traits. Not cuddly, affectionate, dangerous, fierce, those were all new, and certainly not–

_Happy_, said a voice in the back of his mind. Yes… Hiccup was _happy_ to be a dragon, _that_ was what was bugging Fishlegs so much. But… why? He shouldn't begrudge someone their happiness… unless it was at the expense of others. The expense of Stoick, who still grieved for a son who wasn't dead. The expense of the other riders who unwittingly showered affection over their classmate; Fishlegs would have found the irony hilarious, had he not been one of those deceived.

The training ring was nearly in sight, and he looked forward to talking to Meatlug about it again. It wasn't Hiccup's threat that kept him quiet, not directly, it was that the idea was just too absurd to believe. He barely believed it himself, and without Hiccup's cooperation he'd never be taken seriously by anyone. But Meatlug took him seriously, even if she didn't understand a word of it, and knew how to make him feel better. Well, maybe Gobber would too, but then Fishlegs often suspected he wasn't all right in the head.

He rounded a corner to step onto the boards surrounding the ring, still deep in thought.

* * *

Wanderer had had enough. Sometimes bad things happened, and it was good to think away the badness, but Dreamer seemed to be thinking up more badness for himself as he was only getting worse. Wanderer just had no idea what to do about it. He refused to let him think he'd given up, kept bringing him food even though it went untouched, kept showing him love even when it was pushed away.

Despite his efforts, his Dreamer was back to lying listlessly in their den. He had to try something else. What did Long-Paws do when upset? The only time he'd been this upset since meeting Dreamer was–… was when Dreamer wasn't there to try to comfort him.

Wanderer shook his head, and thought back to when he was trapped in the ground-hole. Dreamer had been full of wonder and curiosity in his earlier visits, and once they started flying together he slowly became confident and happy. There were times in between, however, when he had limped in with his face smelling of salt and body moving with pain, sometimes also smelling of blood. He had clearly lost fights with other Long-Paws, and it seemed to upset him greatly.

Wondering what he'd been doing fighting nest-kin in the first place, frail as he was, Wanderer had allowed the fledgling to rest under a wing to find his paws. Dreamer had chattered in those strange Long-Paw sounds until his breathing steadied and his shoulders relaxed. _Rrmm..._

He padded forward and delicately wrapped himself around his Dreamer, ignoring the growled complaint. "We talk." It was a very intimate way of talking, they couldn't see each other much but could feel each other's words against their bodies. Wanderer could also feel the rock-hard tension in his friend-mate's shoulders and back, and with how little he was eating it was no wonder he was losing weight so quickly.

The reply was lethargic and weak. "Talk what?"

"Anything." There was only silence. "The Long-Paw your–… who die, he not say about eels. Why bad?" That had been three nights ago now, and Wanderer had initially been a little hopeful it would help… but as expected it only seemed to add more bad feelings.

He felt Dreamer's teeth bare. "Fire, claws, teeth, many nest-kin die. You take food, we starve. Knowing about fear… Eels with food, use fight, you take food? Nest-kin die?"

Wanderer shuddered. He had only flown safely – he had thought – overhead in the raids to protect his nest, not being quite so under control to let himself be eaten if he brought nothing back, but he definitely would _not_ want to try to steal food from a nest full of those _vile_ things. He needed to stop underestimating Long-Paw ingenuity. And yet… "Then I not know you…"

Dreamer sighed but said nothing, the silence slowly and painfully piercing Wanderer's chest. They had both been so lonely, and he thought they'd needed each other. Did Dreamer not…?

He grounded the thought, Dreamer was hurting in his heart right now and had bad thinking, these weren't his true thoughts. "Dreamer. You sad, I worried. What you need be happy?"

"…I not know." The little Nightstriker curled up a little tighter.

"Say why you sad." There was silence. Wanderer growled, "You not say, I drag you to your female, pin you, groom you _violently_ you shed early."

A few moments of tense silence passed. "…Shed?"

…Rrmm, they'd both been hatchlings for the only shedding-season they'd known each other. "New scales. Start soon, should groom you-me-you lots." Now that he thought about it, his hide was already starting to itch as new scales formed under the dying layer. Grooming would help them cut and settle, and he was _really_ looking forward to having a partner he trusted to help him after cycles of suffering it alone.

Dreamer sighed again; he was doing a lot of that. "Many things. Before Fish-Legs know, I feel Nightstriker. Now I feel Long-Paw _in_ Nightstriker."

"_Stupid_," Wanderer snorted onto his head. "Before you Nightstriker, you Nightstriker in Long-Paw." Dreamer shuffled a little and hummed quietly at that.

_Shedding_… Wanderer had been so worried he hadn't been paying attention to the deep itching all over his hide. If _he_ was itching… It was a little awkward at this angle, but he flexed his claws against Dreamer's back – and hesitated. He turned over the recent lights in his mind, a crazy idea forming. It might just work…

He made the decision. "I come back!" he barked happily as he extracted himself, and leapt from their den. He rifled through a hollow-tree-thing until he found what he was looking for, took it in his mouth, and bounded into the air towards the Long-Paw nest.

This Long-Paw was usually quite easy to find, and sure enough it wasn't long before he and the female-he were running through the nest at top speed in the precarious upright Long-Paw way. Wanderer followed from above until they stopped running, then dropped nearby and bounded over.

Wanderer had once called him Boundless, and Dreamer found it appropriate as the Long-Paw name apparently didn't translate. _Excitement-excitement-excitement!_ he said to Wanderer, who couldn't help but jump around playfully. _Excitement-question-hopeful-excitement? _Wanderer grinned to show him enough of the Long-Paw-thing that he'd know what it was, but didn't let him reach for it.

_Lonely-angry-sad_, whined the she-Boundless, saying "No!" with her long paw, but Wanderer ignored her. She'd probably end up coming anyway, that was fine.

Boundless lunged for him and he skipped back out of reach, wagging his hindquarters in the air and growling playfully. Wanderer almost forgot why he was there playing keep-away for a moment, the _excitement_ was far too contagious, but started leading Boundless away from the nest.

_Understand-happy-excitement_ crooned Boundless as they trotted up the long path back to the rock-hole, she-Boundless grumbling and growling as she followed. They arrived eventually – Long-Paws took _forever_ to get _anywhere_, it was a wonder they could even feed themselves – and she-Boundless went to the Two-Head den. Wanderer dropped the Long-Paw-thing in front of his own den and stepped off to the side.

Boundless hummed _understanding-protect-sad_ as he picked up the Long-Paw-thing, shook off the saliva and entered the den. He reappeared moments later with a grumpy Dreamer in his forelegs.

"What?" Wanderer flared his frills innocently at the dirty look he was getting.

Finding a nice warm-light spot, Boundless sat down, dropped Dreamer into his lap and hummed _calm, safe, protect_. Dreamer squirmed, making to escape, and Boundless muttered _unsure, question_ to Wanderer. A pawful of swift bats to the head with a growled warning of _stay_, and the struggling stopped.

_Amused-understanding-excited!_ Boundless barked, and got to work with the Long-Paw-thing. It was a flat thing cut from a tree, and somehow rows of short thin claws bristled from one side. With the appropriately long paws to hold it, it was _perfect_ for a nice firm groom, being somewhat softer and blunter than their own claws and teeth.

Wanderer grinned as Dreamer's grumpy, sullen expression turned into wild shock as it got to work. This would be a new experience for him, but he'd quickly come to enjoy it.

An itch hit Wanderer right between the wings, and he strained to reach it. _Eels_, now that he'd noticed it, he couldn't un-notice it, and he'd set up his two trusted friends with each other. Well… perhaps without the influence of a hungry and jealous queen, he could trust a little… He approached she-Boundless, who was whining _sad, upset_ at the Two-Head, and tugged at her not-furs. "You," he tipped his head to Boundless and Dreamer, "that, me?" For added measure he made his eyes big and round.

_Hopeful, happy, question_ she asked, and Wanderer grinned and bounced a little on his paws. It would be a relief to at least have his back done for now, as it was the hardest place to reach, the rest could wait. Dreamer was purring for the first time in many long nights, and at this moment that was more important than any amount of discomfort.

She-Boundless barked something aggressively at Boundless, who waved a foreleg with a lame grunt, and she walked off to fetch something from the hollow-tree-thing by the wall. Wanderer trotted over to give Dreamer a nuzzle, the little Nightstriker was now making pathetic little whines with every stroke. _Hurry hurry hurry,_ he thought at she-Boundless as she sat down facing Boundless, another Long-Paw-thing in her paw. This was a flat cold thing with broad hard teeth, not as good but it would do the job.

He stepped forward – and hesitated, itches forgotten again, as the hard smell of her claws slammed into him. Fears resurfaced of claws raking through his back, attached to a Spine-Tail or Fire-Scale but belonging to the queen, and he felt his teeth slide slowly through his gums. Memories bubbled of having to protect Dreamer from his own nest in this very rock-hole, then being knocked to the ground, held down, and restrained. The edges of his vision darkened. _No, this nest isn't like that now_, but the thought was quiet and unconvincing.

_Danger, safe, protect, slow_, Boundless hummed with an undertone of a growl. The two blood-kin alternately clicked and growled at each other for a few moments, and then together they delicately pulled out their claws – a quiet hiss couldn't be restrained – to toss them away.

With the surprisingly numerous claws scattered out of reach, Wanderer relaxed, flexing his frills and sheathing his teeth. "Sorry," he said to She-Boundless, and stepped onto her hindleg to nuzzle her cheek.

_Annoyed_, she growled, her expression full of hurt, but then she crooned_ understanding, safe, protect,_ and scratched behind his ears. The itching tickled down his back again, and he hesitantly lay himself across her lap, forcing his breathing to steady.

_Confused, unsure_, she-Boundless said, and the cold Long-Paw-thing ran down his scales – Wanderer could have laughed, but settled for flicking his wings irritably at her. Here he'd had an only somewhat irrational fear of her tearing through his hide, but this was far too gentle to do anything at all. He felt stupid for overreacting. Boundless clicked and hummed something, and Wanderer's eyes went wide with the second stroke. A pathetic yowl slipped from his throat, and his back hunched into the sensation.

It was nearly painful, the way the tiny little prickles danced under his scales like thorns, but it quickly faded into a warm and pleasant relief. A little like when Dreamer removed the Long-Paw-thing that had allowed him to fly again, after it had started to ache, but a lot stronger.

This settled into a rhythm that had Wanderer flexing and groaning pitifully. It had been worse than he'd thought, between Dreamer and his own apparent issues he'd forced it to the edge of his mind as something he couldn't do anything about. As the worst of it was combed out, he felt himself relaxing for the first time since Dreamer stopped eating, and that elusive purr mirroring his own was–

The purring cut off abruptly, and Wanderer's mind raced ahead of him even as he snapped his head up and confirmed Dreamer was unharmed. _Confused, concern, question,_ Boundless muttered, checking him over, but Dreamer stiffly climbed off and skulked back to the den. _What in the night sky?_ What had happened?

Someone had entered the rock-hole while his guard was down, the big Long-Paw who was too curious for his own good. Dreamer translated his name as Fish-Legs; Wanderer had never seen his legs but was pretty sure they were not fish. Long-Paws and their stupid names…

Fish-Legs was staring tensely after Dreamer with his jaw clenched – Wanderer finally understood the problem, and stepped off of she-Boundless. If he had become a Long-Paw and his nest could see who he was, he might be ashamed at being seen doing some of the more bizarre Long-Paw things like wearing the skins of prey-things; it'd been bad enough wearing the small patch of rank skin on his tail. And Long-Paws were as self-conscious as Spine-Tails.

He was _furious_. This Long-Paw was the whole reason Dreamer was miserable, as if he had _any right_ to decide that.

Seeing his bared teeth and narrowed eyes, Fish-Legs turned his scowl on Wanderer. "What?"

"You hurting Dreamer," Wanderer growled at him, but he just scoffed, rolled his eyes and made to walk away.

Rage boiled under Wanderer's scales. He lunged forward and darted up the side and back of Long-Paw, the thrashing only lasting a moment until sharp claws pressed into the pudgy face. S_ubmit_, he snarled right into his ear, _if you don't want to lose an eye_.

The Rock-Scale thrummed into the open with a growl, and Boundless and she-Boundless both slowly rose to their hind paws, forelegs out low to their sides. Boundless hummed _safe, safe, fear_, but Wanderer ignored all of it. After tense moments, Fish-Legs slowly lowered himself to the ground.

"Good," Wanderer huffed and dropped down, then padded around him, leaving the wary Rock-Scale to his side. "You hurting Dreamer," he repeated, and gave a sharp snarl to show what he thought of that.

"I look him."

For such a smart Long-Paw, this one was amazingly stupid. Hrrr, how could he put this to simple words? "He feel what you think. You think bad, he feel bad." Fish-Legs just huffed and pouted. "He not choose! I do, now he Nightstriker! Not can change! What you want?"

Fish-Legs leaned forward as if to speak but said nothing for a short time. "I wanted him tell me. He not," he eventually said.

"You know now. You not happy, he not happy."

"He not tell me."

Wanderer fought the urge to screech at him, why were Long-Paws so _frustrating?_ Always overthinking things, overlooking what was in front of their noses. "You not want Dreamer."

Fish-Legs glared at him. "You not say I not want!"

_For the love of flying_, he thrust a wing towards his den and stared at Fish-Legs with the biggest _has your head been eaten by worms_ look he could manage. He couldn't fathom why Dreamer was so attached to this Long-Paw, any of them in general but this one in particular. He was loud, nosy, annoying, and now this. For Dreamer, however… he would try to make this work. Wanderer owed him that much after dropping him into this life.

But it _finally_ seemed to be getting through that thick skull, Fish-Legs was mumbling _regret, sorry_ and looking solemn.

_Confused, confused, question,_ shouted she-Boundless, and Fish-Legs responded with _sorry, resolve, question_. The smell-alikes grumbled as they mounted their Two-Head and flew off.

"Sorry," Fish-Legs said to Wanderer, but he just huffed and trotted off to get Dreamer, keeping a wary ear on the Rock-Scale as he passed. _Not me you have to apologise to, rock-head_. Dreamer had, of course, curled up in the furthest corner and hidden himself in shadow, and had to be dragged out by the scruff of his neck. This was a two-way problem, after all.

So while Fish-Legs spoke, Wanderer ignored the plaintive protests and gave Dreamer his first cleaning in what appeared to be a long time, given the state of him. _Both_ of these rock-heads would just have to get used to it again; Dreamer was a Nightstriker, and Nightstrikers were affectionate creatures.

The two talked for a while, Fish-Legs even occasionally talking properly with his body, though Wanderer respectfully only paid enough attention to gauge the mood. Twice it got a little heated, but not enough that he felt he needed to intervene, and eventually they reached something hopefully resembling a resolution.

Wanderer had become bored and was half-dozing when Fish-Legs stood up and left on the Rock-Scale. He got up, stretched and yawned, then nudged Dreamer's jaw. "You stink. Come, we fly to old den, swim." _And then you're going to fill your belly if I have to force the fish down your throat_, he thought as Dreamer reluctantly stretched his thin body.

* * *

Awkwardly, stiffly, Ruffnut stalked along the path to the training ring to look for her stupid brother. Ever since winter Tuffnut had seemed more interested in the little Furies than in her, but they were just so Lokishly adorable she couldn't be mad at them for it. So she was mad at him. With her brother absent for up to half of every day she had no excuse or escape when her family threw her at some occupation, and nothing better to do anyway.

She should be proud of her accomplishments. She'd managed to set fire to the kitchens, ruin a dozen paces of cloth, lost three sheep in a bare paddock, and Gobber's winter coat would never smell the same again. She _would_ be proud, if she'd intentionally been trying to do all that. The idea of a prank just wasn't the same without her partner, and now she was failing at everything else she tried. Did she need to learn how to _not_ Loki stuff? Was that a thing?

Ruffnut glanced up at Stoick, the reason for her awkwardness, walking ahead and aside her. He'd been putting pressure on her family to keep her occupied, she suspected, him or Astrid. Or both, that seemed likely. It was weird to walk with the Chief, normally in this situation she'd have Tuffnut with her and they'd be on their way to their parents. Silently, she cursed asking him if he knew where Tuffnut was, like she even needed an answer. She just hadn't wanted to walk all the way to the ring to find he wasn't there.

Strange sounds reached her ears. "Hey, you hear that…?" she asked warily, rolling her footsteps to silence them.

Without a long history of sneaking around, Stoick stopped entirely to listen. "Sounds like… a dragon fight…?" he rumbled quietly. Having passed him, she looked back to meet his eyes, then they both legged it to the ring. She arrived first, peering down from the rim, though the Chief was surprisingly fast on his feet and towered next to her a moment later.

What she saw first was the Furies, snarling and growling while they clawed and bit each other. They rolled around in a tangle of wings and tails, leaving dark scraps and scales to litter the ring. It took her a moment to recognise two sets of legs directly below her, those of Tuffnut and Gobber slumped motionless against one wall. "Guys!" she shouted, though whether at her brother and mentor or the Furies, she wasn't quite sure.

The Furies rolled apart to look at her, then twitched manically and started chewing themselves before merging back into a tangle of black limbs. "Oh, hey sis," Tuffnut called up at her tiredly. She slipped through the bars and into the ring, then kicked him in the side.

"Don't _scare_ me like that!" she yelled at him as he keeled over, then gave his helmeted head a tap with her heel for good measure. His pained groans were very satisfying.

"What in Odin's hundred names is going on…?" Stoick asked as he jogged through the main gate. He picked up one of the scales and turned it in his fingers.

Pulling himself upright again, Tuffnut tossed a brush up at Ruffnut. "They're shedding. Mind giving us a hand?"

"By Freya's beard, ah've never seen anything' _like_ it," Gobber muttered, "Weh've been brushin' fer _hours_ an' they're _still_ at it. Ah've barely even 'ad a chance ter _look at_ the scales yet." He twisted the brush attachment from his prosthetic and tossed it towards Stoick, but only made half the distance. It clattered to the stone floor, and the Furies rolled to a stop to look at it.

One of them darted for the brush and ran it to Stoick, whining pathetically and then dropping it to growl and gnaw at his shoulder, and paws touched Ruffnut's waist as the other stood up against her. She winced at the way his skin twitched and danced over his back, and noted rough edges where part of it had peeled off to reveal gleaming new scales underneath.

"Aww, how can I say no to that adorwabaw face," Ruffnut said quietly, dropping down and quickly getting to work. She had to remember these dragons weren't fragile, despite their small size, and the harder she ran the brush down the scales the louder the dragon – Toothy, she thought – whimpered and flexed. Getting into the swing of it, she looked up and had to grin at the similarly pathetic dragon in Stoick's lap.

Toothy swung around, and Ruffnut nearly lost a finger as he attacked his own flank. "Hey, watch it!" she shouted, but hurriedly resumed stroking and the Fury calmed again.

"You don't have to go top to bottom you know, they have _scales_, not fur."

Ruffnut glared at her brother, of course he was right and it was obvious but he didn't have to make her sound stupid. "Hear that Chief?" she called over. "Just brush in any direction, the harder the better."

"I don't want to hurt him. Look how much weight he's lost, poor little thing, must be sick again."

"Nah, he's a dragon, the brush will break before he does."

Stoick considered her words, and the next stroke was met with a loud cry and a _crack_. He stared at the handle in his hand while Hiccup panted and purred loudly. _Heh, told ya_.

"Oi! Tha' was mah best brush!" Gobber shouted, but Stoick just picked up the head and carried on, ignoring the grumbles.

"What are you even doing here old man?" Ruffnut asked Gobber while she scrubbed the flank sprawled across her knee, grinning as Toothy whimpered and kicked his leg.

"Astrid mentioned they were droppin' scales, and tha' they had some _interestin' properties_. Thought ah'd accompany Tuffnut this mornin' ter check it ou'. Ah'm always excited ter work with new materials, bu' got a bit… caught up in the acquisition."

Ruffnut nearly lost a finger again and brought her attention back to her charge with a wordless growl. Dusting off the little scales that were gathering on Toothy's back, she felt something catch under her hand. _Huh?_ She tried to get her thumb under it to no avail, but then managed to get a nail in and tease it up. "_Stop twitching,_" she grunted at the dragon, holding him still under her other arm, then found a grip on the tapered edge and peeled up a layer of skin.

Toothy whined but didn't flinch or attack her, so she kept teasing and peeling with grim fascination until the piece tore away. About the size of her hand, it was as thick as work leather and felt just as strong. She only had to wonder for a moment how she'd managed to tear it before Toothy craned around to lick the freshly revealed scales, showing the little cracks running through the old skin.

"Ah'll take tha'." Gobber reached over and plucked the scrap from her to examine it, turning it over in his hand. "This stuff's amazin', pity there's only the two wee Furies. Though, when they're grown we'll have more ter work with. Prob'ly be thicker, too."

A shadow fell over her, and a head nudged her shoulder. "Hey Barf, _little_ busy right now. Promise I'll get to you, 'kay? We can go blow up some sea stacks or something." Barf croaked happily and nuzzled her, and only quick reflexes kept her hand attached to her wrist. "Would you _stop that,_" she hissed at the Fury, and he grumbled back at her. Oh boy, this was going to be a long morning…

* * *

Dreamer was feeling a _little_ better, if mainly due to how _itchy_ the shedding had been. He and Wanderer had been desperately chewing and clawing themselves and each other for days, heedless of who was observing, and only those _magical_ brushes had allowed him a shaky grip on sanity. It had taken his mind off things enough that some of his appetite had returned, and with it much of his strength.

Unlike the other dragons, who had either a solid mesh of scales or a thick layer of leather, Night Furies had a much thinner leather embedded with uncountable tiny scales. It seemed to be much stronger, lighter, and more fireproof than leather, but significantly more flexible and less brittle than scales. He still remembered with awe that Toothless had walked away from the destruction he'd wrought on the forest by crash-landing into it. The only apparent downside was when it came time for the hide to be replaced.

A few undamaged strips had come away cleanly, each maybe large enough for a dagger hilt, much to Gobber's enthusiasm. It was a little disconcerting to think someone was interested in his skin and might find use for it, even if he wasn't using it anymore. Particularly coveted had been the larger scales on the sides of their legs and mottling their heads, they had proven to be remarkably resilient to all attempts to damage them. The problem was, between only two small Night Furies, there wasn't enough to even consider doing anything practical with them beyond maybe an indestructible purse. All that could be collected had gone into a locked box in the forge. Dreamer knew the twins had at least a few but what they would – or even could – do with them was anyone's guess.

It was the first real downside to his dragon body that he'd encountered. He was not looking forward to the one next year, though Wanderer sheepishly assured him the first time was the worst. Apparently he'd forgotten that, shaking Dreamer's perception of him as an all-knowing dragon expert.

The… _understanding_ he'd come to with Fishlegs seemed to be holding, though now instead of scornful the looks were apologetic. It was an improvement, he'd take it. The Dragonese lessons had started up again, and they'd managed a conversation – admittedly very awkwardly – about dragons in general. Dreamer was half expecting to be asked to submit to a thorough and… _uncomfortable_ examination, but it hadn't come. _Oh, wait_… Fishlegs had been there at the start, when he'd first woken up in his father's house. Should he feel violated? He felt violated. Heh, maybe Fishlegs was similarly regretting past actions, wouldn't that be funny.

Everything had settled down for about a week after the shedding, then the riders were apparently off to Dragon Island to try to bond some more dragons. From what Dreamer had overheard, there was some trepidation over bringing _more_ dragons to Berk in case it was seen as an act of gathering forces, so it was to be a slow process.

Naturally, Dreamer was tagging along, easily keeping pace with Meatlug, and the two Furies came as a package deal. He had been reasonably confident he could make the flight, but his wings stretched to their fullest spanned as far as _one_ of Stormfly's. Additionally, while he had spent countless hours drifting in the sky, this was hard flying in a specific direction and often against the wind. The difference was now as clear as between standing and running.

There were advantages to being a small dragon, however. He chirped wearily at Stormfly, and she chittered back to him in her maternal tone and offered him a ride. _Not… _quite_ what I had in mind_, he sighed to himself, eyeing the very large and very sharp teeth ringing the proffered 'seat'. She seemed a little disappointed, but not upset or offended when he brought himself up and dropped himself awkwardly in Astrid's lap.

Astrid shouted her surprise, and then loudly exclaimed something. It wasn't until he turned to look at her and the air blew the wrong way over his ears that he realised she was just shouting over the wind. He'd forgotten about that. Wanderer teased him with a mock sympathy, but then Astrid's hands found lingering itchy spots behind Dreamer's ears and down his back, and he smirked back. Wanderer stubbornly stuck to his pride for maybe a whole minute before deftly dropping into Tuffnut's lap.

Travelling like this was very nostalgic. Outside of training her he'd only ridden Stormfly once – to make this same journey, come to think of it – and it was different to riding Toothless. Nonetheless, it took him back to the week or so he'd just whiled away what time he could drifting in the clouds on the back of his friend.

Dreamer hadn't meant to spend well over half the flight being carried, but they were suddenly gliding through the thick fog that perpetually surrounded Dragon Island. It was too late to jump off, a moment too long finding his wings and he'd be lost in the gloom. He did make the descent down to the beach by himself at least.

The mountain rose before them, heat radiating from the cracked rock, and he could just about make out what must be the remains of the queen in the distance. That must be uncomfortable to have laying around, but it was no wonder the dragons stuck around here, even in winter it would be very warm. He could hear so many of them the sound was a buzz in his ears.

"Have nice sleep, lazywings?" Wanderer chided as they landed. Dreamer playfully lunged at him and they tussled in the pebbles while the others dismounted, stretched, and set up a small camp.

Dreamer found his Nightstriker instincts kicking in, always alert and ready for danger even while playing, and a part of his mind was busy processing the air of wariness around them. The dragons nestled into crevices in the side of the mountain clearly didn't trust the Long-Paws, but were unsure and curious.

The conclusion he came to was that he could help by showing these dragons that the riders weren't a threat. _Which I'm already doing_, he mused as he chewed one of Wanderer's legs. He wasn't really sure which one, they were both half-buried in the smooth stones.

Wanderer broke free and sat on him, batting his head. Dreamer was pretty sure he was lecturing him too, something about staying on top in a fight, but he couldn't see. He managed to wriggle out from under him and shook himself, flexing his battered wings and fins while he looked around again.

_What else can I do?_ The group had set up a fire – there were still plenty of wrecked ships around for wood – and were roasting fish over it. Dreamer took to the air, feeling Stormfly's keen eyes watching him, and circled low overhead.

Snotlout was being his usual boisterous self, pacing and saying _mighty, threatening, big_, certainly not helping ease the concerns of the onlooking dragons. Dreamer brought himself around and landed on the idiot's back, staggering him and throwing him off whatever routine he was enacting.

Dreamer wrinkled his nose as stale must assaulted it, _doesn't this boy _ever_ bathe?_ Regardless, he hooked his forelegs over Snotlout's shoulders and wrapped his tail around his waist. Snotlout didn't know what to make of this and just stood there stiffly while the others laughed. At least he wasn't being threatening anymore.

"Here you go, little Hiccy," Tuffnut crooned as he tossed a fish for Dreamer to snap out of the air, then jumped as Wanderer appeared under his elbow to filch one from the bag. "_Hey_, what did I tell you about sneaking around young man?" He tried to snatch the fish from Wanderer, and when that failed he made to grab him. That failed too.

With part of his senses tuned to the surrounding dragons, Dreamer was aware of the young Nightmare well before he drifted to a gentle landing a short distance from the camp. "Erm, gaizz?" Ruffnut pointed him out, and all attention promptly turned to Snotlout, Dreamer still on his back.

"Ha! Ov coorse, thuh _besst_ drahgun iss the furst to arraive. Whatch and lurn, az the Snot taems thiss maity beest!" He snatched up a satchel, full of fish by the smell of it, and strode towards the Nightmare, heedless of the hushed shouts behind him.

_Oh boy… I'd better stick around for this one_, Dreamer thought to himself. Hookfang apparently didn't agree and snorted down Dreamer's back, but Snotlout turned around and gave him an earful. As they turned back, Dreamer caught something peculiar flash across Hookfang's features – a mix of caution and worry that was most uncharacteristic for him to show towards Snotlout. It did help to explain their odd relationship though.

Under his paws, Dreamer could feel Snotlout getting more and more tense as he approached the wild Nightmare; _he has no idea what he's doing_… But before he had any chance to come up with any sort of plan, Snotlout dramatically tossed aside his weapons and helmet, and held a fish out.

The Nightmare gave a low hiss of _caution_. Probably because Snotlout's posture was still _aggressive, big, scary_, so Dreamer batted him on the head a few times. Apparently, Snotlout had forgotten he was there, as he jumped and threw his hands up to his head, hitting himself in the face with the fish in the process.

The two Nightmares snickered at him as he flailed, trying to grab Dreamer, but his thick arms weren't flexible enough to reach far enough back. When he tried to hit him with the fish, Dreamer stole and ate it. Snotlout growled, then slumped in defeat and pulled out another fish. He offered it to the wild Nightmare, posture now _tired, wary_.

The Nightmare let Snotlout toss the fish into his mouth, then sniffed at him. Dreamer leaned forward to sniff back; this was his first time this close to a wild dragon directly, and he was a little unprepared for the wave of information that crashed into his brain. Most of all, he could smell smoke, first the rocky heat from the volcano and then the more biological smoke of dragon fire. There was also the fresh application of the flammable slime they coated themselves in, and then a core of something that was just unmistakably Monstrous Nightmare.

And layered through all of that were _dragons_, dozens of them of all different types. _Just how sensitive are these noses?_ Dreamer received a sniff back, then the Nightmare crept around to meet Hookfang and that little pocket of world withdrew. It had been like being briefly shown a large parchment completely covered in runes, all different sizes, some familiar but most not, but he still had far too little experience to glean much from it. He was even only guessing the Nightmare was male. One day he might need to stay here a little while to get to grips with his senses.

The wild Nightmare snapped up another fish Snotlout threw for him, then ignored the proffered hand and flew back up into the mountain. Snotlout was initially dejected, but put on his false bravado and returned to the group.

Dreamer wished he could be part of all this, properly part of the mission. He'd first tamed the wildest and most intelligent of known dragons, the Night Fury, then easily calmed and bonded the broken and abused dragons they'd used for training. It was his calling, and he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he'd survived and lived as a human.

But there were too many variables. His father had taken to the Night Fury fledglings, true, but he had been grieving the loss of his son for a whole year. Without that, could he have accepted the dragon who had been blasting the village to splinters for Thor knew how many years? And the other Hooligans… With only four dragons in the village, all mostly residing in the stables, there was still animosity and lingering hate.

Hiccup's short-lived dream of establishing a dragon-friendly Berk seemed more impossible the more Dreamer thought about it. The way things had happened, he'd become a sort of martyr for peace; _at least we aint _dyin'_ to the beasts anymore_, echoed the activist's words. He'd also enabled Fishlegs to communicate with dragons, something he hadn't even considered a possibility in the month he'd spent with Toothless in the cove or even when he'd returned to the village _as a dragon_. It had taken someone to observe _two_ Night Furies, without that specific scenario there was no guarantee it would have ever happened.

When they reached the group, Dreamer dropped down. _Yeck_, he _reeked_ of Snotlout, and licking off _that_ particular smell was very unappealing. He trotted down the beach to the water and, under the guise of playing, rubbed himself against the wet stones as best he could.

Wanderer was not fooled. When Dreamer returned, he was tackled and the job was finished for him. Thankfully he only had to suffer it a short time, there were more curious dragons approaching, a good few this time. _Ahh, so that was the plan, clever_. Thinking about it, curious dragons seemed ideal candidates for bonding rather than trying to chase one down and hope it cooperated.

Snotlout made to go for the nearest Nightmare but was promptly dropped to the ground by Astrid with a hissed reminder. Instead, he was left with the twins while Astrid and Fishlegs approached their affinitive dragons.

They were naturals. Astrid disarmed and approached with _awe, happy, amazed, scared_. She left Stormfly a little way back, then let the wild Nadder take a large fish from her. Dreamer couldn't hear her words from the distance, but her tone and body said she was admiring the big Nadder who preened and bristled proudly.

Fishlegs was equally adept, approaching the only Gronckle with _calm, safe, slow_. His weight made it difficult to traverse the loose ground and he regularly slipped and stumbled, but the Gronckle seemed to be finding it endearing and they also connected quickly.

Laying on his front next to Wanderer, Dreamer watched in interest as they stumbled through a rushed version of what he'd done with the arena dragons. Fishlegs' work no doubt, he liked to document _everything_, though Dreamer had really only been reacting to the dragons' needs. They'd been mistreated and abused, sorely in need of feeding and reassurance, and he worked with them based on that fact. It was a surprise it was working here actually – but then maybe not so much, the queen hadn't treated them any better from what little he'd seen.

"Why nest here with queen?" he asked.

Wanderer's ears had been darting around warily since the appearance of the new dragons, and while they didn't pause at Dreamer's question, his frills flattened to his neck. "Nest-kin not have choice. Queen take thoughts, give new thoughts. Not let them leave."

"She let them go to egg-nest."

"She need hatchlings. No drink-water here, no hatchlings, no fledglings. Grow on egg-nest."

Dreamer idly waved his tail, processing all that. "All nest-kin leave in egg-season? Who feed queen?"

"Not all nest-kin leave. Some stay, feed…" His frills were really flattened to his neck now, practically quivering with the strain, and his folded wings were tense and hunched forward.

Dreamer decided not to pursue further questions. With a glance at Fishlegs to make sure he was distracted, he gave Wanderer a short nuzzle under his neck. It almost immediately relaxed the bigger Nightstriker, if not completely, and he received a low purr and a lick on the cheek. He was slowly getting more comfortable with this again, but it was taking time. He gave a quiet purr of _gratitude_, Wanderer really was being very patient with him and let him move at his own pace. Most of the time, anyway.

"Where Long-Paws lay eggs?" Wanderer warbled curiously.

…He was suddenly a little less grateful. _Oh man, how to explain this…?_

"Long-Paws not lay eggs in egg-season?" he continued while Dreamer searched for the words. "No see hatchlings in nest."

"Long-Paws not lay eggs." Wanderer seemed to be waiting for more words. "No eggs," he clarified.

_Huff_. "No eggs, no hatchlings, no Long-Paws. I not eat them, why not say?" He nudged Dreamer with his nose. "I want know."

"I… What? I trust you! Stupid. But no eggs."

"How hatchlings if no eggs?"

Dreamer groaned and buried his face in the rocks. He didn't want to have this conversation; this was way too uncomfortable.

"…I understand," Wanderer sighed. "You not want tell me… I only curious…"

And now Dreamer felt bad. He groaned again and lifted his head. "Female... hold hatchling in belly. When…" Searching for the words he glanced around, but went quiet to decipher the toothy grin Wanderer was giving him.

…

The moment he made the connection, Wanderer was off, barking a laugh back at him. "Get back here!" Dreamer screeched. "I get you for that!" He scrabbled after him, quickly finding his paws on the loose ground to catch up and pounce. They tumbled to a stop with Wanderer on his back, and Dreamer pounced again and bit down on a foreleg with a growl.

"Stupid, land-things not lay eggs," Wanderer chided playfully and batted him on the head with his other paw. Dreamer caught the next strike in his teeth and bit a little harder.

With a contented purr in his ears, Dreamer suddenly found himself pulled closer and wrapped in wings… _Nope, not quite okay with this_, but Wanderer was already pushing him off to get to his paws. "See if more fish? I hungry."

"I took fish from rock-head," he mumbled, and Wanderer just nodded at him before bounding off to pester Tuffnut. Dreamer watched him happily receive a fat fish and ear scritches. Why did he have to feel so guilty doing the things he so sorely wanted to do? Well, he knew exactly why, he'd lost his balance and the Viking had a little too much control right now. It might take him a little longer, but he'd find that balance with this as well. At least things in the privacy of the den were just about back to normal.

He ambled the short distance back to the camp, mind whirring. As long as he was thinking more like a Viking, there were a few dreams he could put his thoughts to, and he needed to come up with a joke on Wanderer. He turned it all over in his head while he watched the new dragons get to know the riders.

The sun reached the height that they had to leave before or risk flying in the dark, and there was a faint and suppressed nervousness – would the new dragons follow them back?

The answer was no – at first. Fishlegs had apparently forgotten he could speak Dragonese, or maybe he just didn't know how to ask, and the pair dismissed Dreamer as a hatchling being silly when he explained. Stormfly thankfully caught on and made the offer as well, promising food, safety, and a good nest just like she'd done for the Nightstrikers. The two dragons then set into the air with barely a glance back.

The return flight was uneventful. Dreamer had to rest three times, the winds were even less favourable and he wasn't as fresh as the flight there, but he was sure to carry himself as far as he could this time. It stung a little that Wanderer only needed two rests, despite knowing why he was stronger.

Training started the day after they got back, and with the Nadder being bonded to Spitelout in the training ring Dreamer and Wanderer had excellent seats for the show. It did not go well. The first day was actually painful to watch; he was arrogant, short-tempered, refused instruction, and seemed to have no interest in bonding.

_I should write a book_, Dreamer mused to himself on the second day, '_How to Train Your Viking'_, as Spitelout once again waved off Astrid's instruction and faced the mild-tempered dragon full of _aggression_ and _combat_. They would get nowhere at this rate.

Dreamer waved his wings to get the Nadder's attention. "He think you toy. Show him you not." He quietly snapped his teeth for emphasis.

Kingstail, as Spitelout was calling him, chittered thoughtfully, then waited for Spitelout to near. Instead of his usual placid and curious demeanour however, he reared up and bared his teeth, spines bristling and a threatening hiss filling the ring. Spitelout reacted, shouting up at him and raising his fists, but went deathly still when the sharp tail spines pressed against his exposed throat.

"Uhh… Astdrid?" he asked quietly while Kingstail snickered. Dreamer rolled his eyes, _now_ he was ready to listen to the expert. Maybe he really should write that book.

Astrid was clearly a little freaked out as well, and spoke slowly and carefully. "_Don't move_. Just carm down, he won't hurt you." She was moving in to take control of the situation, but Dreamer surreptitiously asked Stormfly to not let her near. Someone as stubborn as Spitelout needed drastic measures.

Beginning to realise this seemed to be a dragon thing, Astrid stopped trying to push past. She took a few steps back, gradually becoming more comfortable with the situation and subsequently harder to understand. "See? I don't control my dragon, like I've been sayhing. I have to _truhst_ her, az she trusts meeh. Ayhy mean, would yoo want somewahn you didn't truhst on _yoor_ sholdurs witth an axx to _yor_ throte?"

_Finally,_ it seemed to be sinking in. Spitelout had been craning back to look at Astrid, and now he faced his dragon, stared into a single bright green eye, then held his arms out to his sides and closed his eyes. _Trust_, he was saying without even realising it.

Kingstail warbled happily and withdrew his tail, then gave Spitelout a nuzzle. Looking a bit unsteady, Spitelout carefully stroked the dragon's jaw with a nervous laugh.

"Lazywings!" Wanderer barked from a hover above, dangling vertically. "Come fly!"

Dreamer stretched, preparing for a hard flight. He still had dreams and plans, and would need an inordinate amount of strength to see them through, especially in this form. At least this body was _much_ more receptive to building strength than his last one, even long hours in the forge had failed to put any meat on him as his father had hoped.

Sufficiently warmed, he launched himself into the morning sky. He pushed himself hard, throwing far more energy into his movements than was required, mostly to build strength but also because the added snappiness was quite satisfying. When his wings and body burned from the effort he eased off, and just focused on keeping up with Wanderer, determined to stay in the air at least as long.

Later, as the sun rose higher, he crashed into a heap in their den. Wanderer wasted no time in putting his magical tongue to work on Dreamer's aching shoulders and wings, and he almost drifted off on the spot.

By happenstance of where he'd dropped, he spotted something that did not belong, a small book wedged between the rocks… but the thought of so much as opening it turned his stomach to acid, so he just let his eyes drift shut. _Another day_. He drifted off, helped along by the soothing tongue gliding across his scales.

* * *

The Great Hall was the usual bustling scene of activity at dinner; the familiar clacking of bowls on tables, loud drunken conversations, and the occasional brawl breaking out. It was normally so peaceful, but Astrid had a bone to pick.

"I'm telling you guys, there's something about the little Fury, he's like a _genius_ or something. The way he watches you, it's eerie, and you should have seen him today. I was having _so much_ trouble with Spitelout–"

"Hah, welcome to the club," Snotlout muttered.

"–and I catch the little guy twitching that _Dragonese_ stuff, then everything goes wrong. The dragon nearly decapitates your dad, and Stormfly won't let me near to calm him down. But then, Spitelout actually starts _listening_ to me like that was what he needed all along!"

"Yea-ap, he's a little hiccup all right," Fishlegs said meekly, staring into his cup.

...Speaking of weird. "Have you patched things up with them? You were all aloof for a while and then I heard about the incident in the ring, what was all _that_ about?"

"Nothing!" Fishlegs barked a little too quickly, going rigid. Everyone glared at him. "I mean, uh, um, I just, I stumbled on something, a little, er, private. Yeah." The expectant stares continued. "Come on guys! It's _private_. At first I took it all the wrong way, and Too–… _Toothy_ had to tell me what an _idiot_ I was being about it. You guys want to know, you can ask him yourself." He crossed his arms in a rare but absolute _end of discussion_.

"Uh, yeah, except you're the only one who can actually _talk_ to them," Tuffnut drawled.

"Whatever. Hey, is my dad ready to fly yet? I have _got_ to be there for that, I'll get to rub _his_ nose in something for once!"

Astrid ignored Snotlout; she'd had a _lot_ of practise. "Alright then Fish. Can you look up the flight training for the Nadder? Stoick wants Spitelout flying yesterday, and I'm a little rusty. It's been… almost…" She thought of the little girl she'd been a year ago, wide eyed and soft-skinned, as Hiccup had effortlessly gained the trust of four dragons and shown them all how to fly together. She'd had to grow up _fast_ since then, finding herself handling a lot more minor Chiefly duties than planned, but she was still a long, _long_ way from Chiefdom.

Without fail, _everyone_ had had trouble with a little girl trying to settle disputes, especially with Stoick's reputation taking on water. Thankfully, Vikings always respected strength, and most were willing to overlook the girl for the couple thousand pounds of fire-breathing reptile by her side. Stormfly was directly, if only partially, responsible for the stability of the village, and Astrid considered her friendship a gift from Hiccup. Just another thing he'd done for the tribe that didn't deserve him.

Fishlegs interrupted her reverie, "Y-yeah, sure, come by mine when we're done here and I'll make you a copy."

Later that night, Astrid stared at the ceiling from her bed and listened to the snoring of her family. She couldn't stop turning over recent events in her head, and her new Chief-in-training instincts were scratching at her. Something strange was going on, didn't _feel_ right, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.


	8. Assurance

Struggling to keep a dignified face, Stoick watched as the big Gronckle effortlessly lifted the support beams for the catapult into place. It was the work of ten men, and without the ropes and leverage. Earlier that day it had made a dozen short trips around the main island to store logs for drying, moving them faster than they could be debranched and debarked, the work of four men and in a fraction of the time.

They'd only needed a day to settle it, then a day to train it. _Two days_, and on the third day it had already returned the manpower invested in it.

Stoick had killed more Gronckles than he cared to count, staring down most of their glowing maws. He hadn't thought them particularly strong creatures, they certainly posed little threat compared to a Monstrous Nightmare or some of the more exotic dragons, but their slow and bumbling movements were deceiving. After all that labour, it looked that it was now done warming up and was ready to get started. Its bulbous tail wagged playfully as Hork, the head lumberjack, slung a large fish high into the air, and its wings blurred and thrummed energetically as it buzzed up to catch it.

Absolutely unbelievable.

They wouldn't be able to keep working at this pace, of course. It took months, ideally at least a year, to properly dry wood for building, but they only had two drying sheds and most of the wood in them was too fresh to use yet. It was tempting to add a third, but it would use much of the wood they had remaining and right now they had other priorities.

With the two halves of the catapult's structure secured, Hork directed the Gronckle to pick up the arm and lift it into place, which again was done in painless moments with a dull _thud_.

"Can't believe it, Chief," Hork said, stepping beside Stoick to watch the final pieces go together. "Must admit, I wasn't thrilled when you ordered me to this. We've been fighting these things a long time, an' it's hard to forget the damage. _Even_ knowing the truth of it. But ol' Horrorbull here, well, he might just be enough to change me mind. Hel, if we'd had him a year ago…" After a minute of silence, he sighed. "No, I don't think we were ready for it. Many still aren't, that last year was a bad one."

"Aye," Stoick agreed solemnly, and another minute passed. "What could you do with more of them?"

"Nothin'. We don't have the wood that just this guy can handle, even as it is some of my men will need to find other work."

"Good, Thor knows there's still work to go around. Send the youngest straight to Gobber, he needs a new apprentice." He'd have to ask Fishlegs for more ideas, as well as throwing the idea to the village at large. Centuries of making do with whatever they could had turned them into an ingenious lot, when they had to be.

As Stoick stared, the thick clouds parted enough to let the sun shine through directly behind the head of the catapult, giving it an unearthly glow. An Omen? He was already treading a fine line… But Stoick had an uneasy feeling that was nothing to do with the dragons. Vikings liked to fight, it was in their blood, and when the arrows started flying Berk would need all the strength it could get; he refused to spend another day in oppression. If they could file that strength under peaceful terms, such as gathering or construction, then all the better.

That was a point, all the dragons required for their service was food, but Berk would need to expand her fishing fleet if they were planning on bringing in more. A chuckle rose in his chest as a thought took him by surprise.

"Uh, Chief?" asked Hork uncertainly.

Stoick wheezed out a reply between laughs. "Oh Hork, don't – don't ye see? The dragons are – rebuilding our village, when – just over a year ago they – they were burning it down – _for the same reason!_"

Hork did find this amusing, though not nearly as much. Maybe it was a Chief thing. Valka and Hiccup would have laughed.

The unbidden thought of his lost family instantly sobered him, and he took a long, slow breath. As dark as the days were to come, however, the worst had to be behind him, and Berk needed its Chief now more than ever.

* * *

There was a warmth to the air, a sign of short nights and wild angry skies to come. The last pockets of ice were melting, and the nights were becoming shorter and shorter. The hot-season was on its way.

Hrr, as close as these small-lands got to a hot-season, anyway. Wanderer was used to it now, but as a fledgling – the first time – he remembered all the seasons being much warmer. He'd underestimated how bad the cold-season here would be with these tiny bodies, and it had been a good thing Dreamer had recovered his memories when he did or they would likely have frozen to death.

And since then, neither of them had gone hungry. Well, Dreamer still wasn't eating enough, but that was not due to lack of food. He was now looking a bit healthier, his spine wasn't standing out on his back and the bottom of his ribs were no longer painfully obvious, but he was still very thin and a bit twitchy. At least his flying was now more relaxed, all those jerky movements had softened into appropriately lazy drifting, letting the wind do the work for him. There was still the odd day the tension returned in full force, and his appetite rose and fell like a Spine-Tail fishing, but overall it was a steady, if slow, improvement.

The wind turned to a good direction, perfect for coasting on, and Wanderer smirked. With tiny adjustments to his wings, he drifted up and over Dreamer to nestle a little weight onto his back.

"What you doing!?" Dreamer snapped up at him.

"I sit on _your_ back. I think I sleep. Try not fly us at rocks again." He snickered as Dreamer flicked him with an ear and ducked away. They were flying back to the old nest, the one where the bad queen had been. The Long-Paws probably wanted more nest-kin; it was good to take new blood from other nests.

The wind turned again, bringing new smells and a hint of heavy damp indicative of rain, maybe a storm. Wanderer looked up at the few white clouds far above, longing to weave around and between them. It would take time to return to those heights, mostly for the strength to work the thin air, but they would get there.

In the meantime, he was kept occupied fussing over Dreamer, and by the strange and interesting Long-Paws who flew on their nest-friends. It was a long flight from the hunt-eat-sleep-hunt-eat-sleep monotony of the old nest, and for that Wanderer was grateful. He felt he hadn't matured at all in his time there, and been further hindered by the near continuous thought-sapping Song of the queen.

When they coasted down to the beach of the warm nest, Wanderer again looked at the mountain and its entrances, and was again tempted to go inside. He might not have particularly liked this nest, but he'd not begrudged it either – just the queen in it – and it _had_ been his home for several cold-seasons. No… It wasn't as if he had any friends there, and without the order imposed by the queen he could not predict his reception. At best, he might start fights between maternal mothers and the more territorial individuals. He was with Dreamer now, and wouldn't regret if he never saw inside again.

He wrestled with Dreamer in the loose rocks while the Long-Paws did Long-Paw things, and as usual Dreamer was far too ready to give up his height. He'd been right when he said he wasn't a fighter, but Wanderer needed to work him out of that thought. If either of them ever wanted a mate, or possibly even to survive that long, they would _both_ need to be capable fighters. Some confidence might even help his bad-thinking.

"This not joke Dreamer!" he shouted sternly as the Nightstriker he was sat on struggled and sunk into the pebbles. Wanderer huffed and dragged him out by the scruff of his neck, then repeated himself. "You need learn! No let me get above you!" They wouldn't start aerial play-fights for a while, but if Dreamer couldn't even fight with his paws on the ground he would have no hope in the slippery air.

"Yes," Dreamer shook absently and bounded off to the Long-Paws. Rrgh, Wanderer had forgotten how little Long-Paws listened, sometimes even Dreamer. What would it take to get through to him?

He moved a little closer to the others, then nestled himself comfortably into the smooth stones to think. When he'd been learning to fight he'd had a habit of always dodging to the same side, and that habit had been punished harder and harder until he broke out of it. Dreamer didn't seem to want to fight _at all_, and this plan was likely to put him off play-fighting too, so it was grounded.

Similar ideas drifted along and were all shot down one by one. This problem was just too _alien_ to deal with in the normal way, and anything he could think of would only push Dreamer away. Maybe he should ask Fish-Legs about it, he might know what to do.

Fish-Legs was otherwise occupied by a boisterous Spine-Tail he'd taken interest in for some reason, who he recognised with a start. Wanderer had broken up a fight in the nest – the queen tended to resolve such matters by eating everyone involved – earlier in the cycle he'd been grounded, and found the young Spine-Tail in the middle of it. Hungry and desperate, he'd been orphaned right after returning to the nest and had no idea how to fend for himself, so Wanderer had paired him up with a dam who had lost a fledgling to illness.

Fish-Legs was struggling to gain his trust, so Wanderer flapped over and warbled a greeting. Now that he could get a better smell he was certain it was that same Spine-Tail, though he'd grown big and proud since then. Wanderer was oddly warmed by it; he felt he'd actually saved this life instead of just prolonged it.

He received a chittered greeting back and they exchanged scents, the Spine-Tail's quills quickly perking up. "Nightstriker-kin! I know sire! He save!" Wanderer reared up and allowed himself to be nuzzled.

"Sire was great Nightstriker," he said quietly, wilfully misinterpreting, and the Spine-Tail hummed sadly with it being all too close to his own experiences. "This Long-Paw ask you join nest. Much food, much play. Make Long-Paw friend. Good, safe nest."

Warbling thoughtfully, the Spine-Tail inspected Fish-Legs. He had been busy making lines in his Long-Paw-thing, but at noticing the interest in him he held out a fat fish for the Spine-Tail. He also did a strange one-eye-blink at Wanderer and tossed him a fish too. There wasn't going to be argument over that.

When the Spine-Tail plodded off to introduce himself to Stormfly, Wanderer barked to get Fish-Legs' attention. "Why you not talk?"

"I do. They not tree."

"…They not like?" Wanderer offered.

The Long-Paw squinted and scratched his cheek. "Yes. Sounds rock."

_I think I see the problem,_ Wanderer thought to himself, the talking lessons had gone similarly badly at times. He supposed the sounds _were_ a little similar, and the Long-Paw language seemed to rely more on clicks and tuts and less on pitch and tone. He was also learning that while Dreamer had spoken much with his body, other Long-Paws mostly only used their bodies to say aggressive things.

_This might be tricky then…_ "Need talk about Dreamer." Seeing the tense reaction, he quickly added "Not about you."

Relaxing, Fish-Legs pulled out his Long-Paw-thing again. "Yes. What?"

"Dreamer not listen how fight. He need learn how fight. How I teach?"

"Fight?" Fish-Legs pulled out his claw and waved it around – away from Wanderer – as if fighting off an imaginary attacker.

"Yes."

Fish-Legs hummed, sheathing the claw and then holding a paw to his chin. "He not fighter," he said simply, then chattered _defensive, aggravated, sympathy_, in the Long-Paw way. "Sorry. I not know words."

Rrgh, back to the ground. "I do something…" Wanderer warbled uncertainly, and went to check on Dreamer.

Dreamer hadn't been a normal Long-Paw. It was much better for the both of them that he was now a Nightstriker, he was closer to normal Nightstriker than Long-Paw from what Wanderer had seen. And this way they could make a Nightstriker nest together when they found mates. Hrrr, but that was a long way off yet.

He stopped to look up at the wide, open sky, and took a moment to feel the wind over his tiny body. Given the chance, he would make the same desperate play again in a heartbeat; being grounded, starving, and hatched again was worth it. Even if it was occasionally very frustrating.

_And on that wind…_ "Hey!" he called to Dreamer. "No annoy Fire-Scale, he not like talking."

Dreamer turned away from the Fire-Scale to pout back at him. "Want talk! Talking good, learn things."

"Yes. Learn how Fire-Scale eat Nightstriker fledgling."

_Huff._ "Not every thing want eat us."

Wanderer flicked his tail. "Only need _one_ thing want eat us. I not want find which thing."

The Fire-Scale lost what little interest he had in their conversation, and lay his head under his tail to nap.

"What word for not straight?" Dreamer held his tail up to demonstrate, the end hanging limply to one side. He would often ask for words, and Wanderer had long since stopped asking why; if it was interesting, he trusted Dreamer to tell him.

"Bent."

"Word for very bent?"

"…Why another word? It not straight, it bent. Long-Paw-speak stupid."

Dreamer stuck his tongue out at him, then tipped his head at the Fire-Scale. "His name 'Very-Bent-Tooth'. Thought you like know, maybe you kin?"

He darted back from a snap of Wanderer's _many_ teeth with a chattering laugh, but then Wanderer found his tail waving in amusement. If only Very-Bent-Tooth could understand what a name was and what he'd been given as one, he'd–… Wwrr, he'd probably react exactly as Wanderer had. Admittedly, it _was_ funny to think of him chasing the rock-head Long-Paw around, and he found he couldn't blame Dreamer for laughing so hard while being chased around the ground-hole.

He _could_ still blame Dreamer for giving him the stupid name in the first place. _What is with Long-Paws and teeth!?_ Maybe because their own were so blunt and useless.

This all attracted the attention of the familiar Spine-Tail, who approached them eagerly. "Nightstriker, you have kin!? Your sire very lonely. Have kin very good."

"Yes," Wanderer chuffed proudly, then carefully watched him and Dreamer exchange scents. When the Spine-Tail repeated his condolences for their sire, having now confirmed they were blood-kin, the look of confusion on Dreamer lasted less than a heartbeat and was immediately replaced with a convincing show of sadness. It was very good to see this sickness had not dulled his mind at least.

Storm-Fly – at least _that_ was a more sensible name – with her Long-Paw on her back challenged the new nest-kin to a race, and they were quickly both specks in the distance. Wanderer was not impressed, in a cycle or two he and Dreamer would screech past them with ease.

Dreamer picked his way through the loose rocks to him. "What name for… scale-flying-hunters?"

"…What?"

"Nightstriker, Spine-Tail, Fire-Scale, Rock-Scale, Two-Head, what name for all? And others?"

"Wing-hunters."

Dreamer rolled his eyes, his frills flicking irritably. "No, that also say feather-wing-hunters. Only scales." While Wanderer was trying to figure out what he was asking, he added "Things you nest with."

"Nest-kin?"

"That only nest, and also say Long-Paw now," Dreamer groaned.

"…Yes?" This was another weird Long-Paw thing wasn't it? "Tell me what mean."

"Wwrr, have scales, wings, some nest in sea, some have fire…" He tried to add more, but kept cutting himself off with a grimace.

"I think you not know what this Long-Paw word mean," Wanderer chided smugly.

"I know word! This… hard explain…"

Wanderer crooned mock encouragement and licked him between the eyes, then blocked the bats aimed at his head and lunged with a playful growl. Moments later, he was sighing from atop his scaly black perch. Maybe he should fix one problem before moving on to the next.

He stepped off and let Dreamer climb out of the hole he'd struggled himself into, then lay down next to him. "Dreamer, how you feel?" he asked levelly, and watched for the subtle tells. The twitch of the frills, a swish of his tail, his eyes narrowing… Okay, this was Dreamer, he wasn't subtle in the slightest.

"I… better. I feel more Nightstriker, just… hard sometimes."

"I can help?" Wanderer warbled hopefully.

Dreamer hummed thoughtfully. "You do lots," he said with a purr and a brief nuzzle. "But… not attack Fish-Legs again."

_Huff_. "Only if he not need again… Why you like him?"

Another thoughtful hum. "He nice. We talked lots, played sometimes." He shook his head. "I thankful for him. But maybe… Wrr, it not matter now. I have you."

Wanderer was surprised when a wing draped over his back, if a little stiffly. "Dreamer… You not need do this if not feel good."

"…I _want_ do this," Dreamer whined quietly, but he was too still, his breathing too measured and too deep.

Shrugging the wing off with his own, Wanderer nuzzled him. "Yes. But slow. Later, in den."

"Sneaking feels… wrong," he growled. "I too slow. Half season like this… Not fair for you." He curled up a little on himself, shuffling his paws. "I worry you, you sad… Also you live through lots more bad and I grounded over stupid thing." He let out a long whine. "Sorry… I try be strong like you… But I–"

Wanderer snapped at him to stop him from finishing that thought. "This not about strong." He spread his wings, beautiful and majestic, to loom above them. "I strongest nest-kin. Stronger than queen, we show that. But… I let her take my thoughts, watched her… _eat_ nest-kin, do nothing. I always do nothing. You, small fragile Long-Paw, not do nothing. Bad queen dead. Your nest lives, has much food. _You_ do."

Dreamer scoffed. "_You_ kill queen. I sat on you."

"_We_ kill queen," Wanderer corrected. "I wings, fire. You do flying, fighting. You mind."

"…Two in one…" He hummed quietly. "You body, I mind."

"Yes." It was an apt way to put it, he remembered putting his complete trust in his Dreamer and responding to his subtle movements. The pressure of his legs, the tightness of the binds as he leaned and pulled, the _confidence, fight,_ _protect_ he shouted into the fray. It _was_ almost as if they'd become one being.

Put this way, however, it was difficult not to compare it to the power the queen had held over him. An involuntary relinquish of control to another, as he could not fly and feed himself otherwise. He held none of this against Dreamer of course, he couldn't fault the Long-Paws for striking back at him, and for whatever reason Dreamer had then helped as best he could. Wanderer had even enjoyed the flying itself, sharing that experience with another in that way had been… there were no words to describe it.

However, he had done nothing but relinquish control all his life. First when Dam screeched at him to fly far, far away, then to the wind when he found himself lost. To the queen, when he eventually stumbled into her territory, then to Dreamer, and to the Long-Paw nest while he nursed his precious cargo. Finally, when the cold-season subsided, he left and took back his independence – only to lose it again to the returning cold-season.

He gave a sad-amused huff as he noticed Dreamer looking at him with concern. "I not regret. Never trade you for happy life… You my happy. You make my mind strong."

"You _my_ happy," Dreamer purred back at him. "And you give me strong body! Hrrr, I think I got better fish. This good body." He held a paw up and flexed his claws, shook his wings, flicked his tail, but then paused. "…Thank you… I not think I say that before."

Wanderer snorted. "We thank you-me-you for every thing, we here all night. It good you Nightstriker. Your body now. Not want think otherwise." That line of thinking was a little too close to some torturous memories.

Dreamer shuffled his paws, ears drooping. "But, you strong mind. My nest do you very bad… before fight with queen. My _sire_ do you bad. You still…"

_Huff_. "I be nice." Wanderer debated how much to say… then realised he was being hypocritical, telling Dreamer he was strong and then holding back for fear of breaking him. But he couldn't look at Dreamer while he spoke. "I not strong. I… not can trust. I know nest-kin not hurt us, I know… but I not feel safe. When intruder in den, I think you right, but not want stay. I just… danger everywhere…" He took a deep breath to steady himself, scowling as it wavered. "We grow big next cycle… We survive next cold-season. That all I think. Survive cold-season, then we strong. Then we can _choose_ stay or leave. Then I not fear."

He stole a glance at the Nightstriker next to him, heart drooping at the _worry_ and _love_ in his expression, then for a while they just leaned against each other and watched the smell-alikes chase each other in circles.

"Things better after cold-season," Dreamer agreed firmly as the Long-Paws prepared to leave. "We just survive cold-season."

* * *

This was getting ridiculous, and after another fitful night of wondering Astrid had decided it was time she knew the truth. It was laughable how many signs there were, like they weren't even _trying_ to be discrete, though why they would hide it in the first place was beyond her.

"Why haven't you told anyone?" she growled from Stormfly's back. The temptation to wave her axe was strong, but it wouldn't accomplish anything here.

"'Cause frankly, it does nae yet concern ya." Spitelout, on the back of his dragon, regarded her coolly as he spoke across the small sea-stack.

She scoffed. "Stoick's attitude after the Thing, archery contests, fletchers complaining about strange requests, training the Furies, more dragons, catapults, a hundred things! You've been preparing the village for outright _war_ and nobody even knows about it!"

"Tha' may be the case. 'Appens all the time. Well, yeh wouldn't a' noticed over an ongoing war with flying, fire-breathin' reptiles, bu' it 'appens."

"Look, if I'm going to be doing this one day then _I_ at least should know what's going on, or at least why you won't tell me."

Spitelout thoughtfully stroked his beard. "Ya may be righ' there lassie, bu' it's no up to me. Ah will say, that we Vikings are a rambunctious lot. Tell us a war is comin' an' we'll get ourselves _riled up_, bu' when it turns out ter be paranoia, or resolves itself peacefully? Then yeh've got a problem."

"That… makes sense." Astrid said carefully. "But as the successor of the Chief, and practically head of dragon affairs–"

_"Nothin' ter do with ya,_" Spitelout repeated. "Chief has 'is reasons. Ah assume you already spoke to 'im?" Astrid nodded slowly. "Well there ya go then. Trust 'im, he knows what he's doin'.

"But not using our–"

Spitelout cut her off by flying away on Kingstail, resuming his patrol around the fishing grounds. _Warn and report, do not interfere_, the order made no sense! They should just burn down any boat who dared attack them again, that ought to put a stop to it.

Fine, if that was the way they wanted to play it, she could only trust them, play along, and hope it didn't get anyone else killed. She just wished they trusted her.

* * *

Snotlout stormed through the village, _on foot_, looking for something to beat up. He probably wouldn't take his frustrations out on Hiccup now even if he was alive, and Fishlegs always seemed to be around that Gronckle. Sparring with Tuffnut was tempting, but he was a slippery opponent and usually made Snotlout angrier. It had been a while since he'd needed to do this the old-fashioned way, it was _very_ satisfying to set sea-stacks aflame and just start fires in general, but that was the current source of his frustration.

He yelled wordlessly down the village, but the children scurrying out of his path and even the impressed nods of the adults did little to soothe his mood.

"Oh hey Snotlout, what's up?" Fishlegs called, buzzing in on his stupid fat dragon. Like he could ever understand.

"My dad took Hookfang!" he shouted, then cursed at himself for sounding whiny. He wished he could just beat up the flabby muttonhead instead, that would be much easier, but Meatlug was watching him carefully.

"Ahh, what did he do this time?" The words were infuriatingly smug.

Snotlout threw his arms up. "Nothing! Sure, he set fire to the wood stack again, but he does that like, _every week_. It's nothing new."

"Neither is Hookfang being confiscated, to be fair."

"Yeah? Not for _three days_. When I went to break him out, he growled and snapped at me until I left. Normally he'd just set me on fire and we'd laugh and fly away, but no. I dunno what's gotten into him." He crossed his arms.

"Have you considered… training him to _not_ set things on fire?"

"Uh, _yeah?_ He's thousands of pounds of flammable reptile." He sneered, "Oh but you wouldn't know anything about that, your dragon spits _rocks_, not fire."

Fishlegs laughed at him. "I'm pretty sure the problem isn't the dragon."

"Fine! I'll show you!" Snotlout stalked off, growling wordlessly through his teeth and ignoring whatever jibe Fishlegs shouted after him.

_Fine._ He could channel this, just in a different way. He needed a new dragon anyway – the thought stopped him in his tracks, and he turned back to where Hookfang was being held. Well, 'held' wasn't quite right, 'obediently sat' was closer. _Hmph, well I'll be sure to visit him occasionally_.

Oh yes. He was going to train and claim the 'untrainable dragon', Fishlegs' own words, and then everyone would see how awesome he was. He'd no longer need to drill military lessons, after all who needed strategy when you had a Night Fury? Hiccup had proved that. His dad would start preparing him to be Chief instead of Marshal, and Astrid would respect him for the man he was. "Oh Snotlout," she would say, "How have I not seen this side of you before?" Then she'd pull him off his dragon and…

He was still fantasising when he stumbled into the arena, misjudging the length of the ramp and striking stone with his foot earlier than expected. That was fine, nobody had been around to see that. _Okay, think_… What did he know of the Night Furies? They went nuts for a batch of dried fish some idiot apprentice had dried whole, bones and all. Which were all back in the village. No problem, a quick jaunt back on–… foot. He growled at himself and started the jog back. Well, it was a good workout, he'd been getting lazy with a dragon to zip around on.

Back in the arena, out of breath and idly swinging a fish from its shrivelled tail, he tried to remember what else he'd heard. Fishlegs said they were hard to train, something about being really smart. Hmph, Hiccup had been really smart and Snotlout had had no trouble training _him_. This was going to be _easy_.

"Hiccup! Toothy!" he called, but the stables were empty, they were probably out flying. No, he wouldn't be dissuaded, he would sit here and wait for them. He plopped himself down in the middle of the ring, crossed his arms, and waited.

And waited. And waited.

He was doing pullups from the fence surrounding the ring when the two Furies glided down to perch on the bars opposite and stare at him. He dropped down, making an amazingly smooth landing, then retrieved the fish from where he'd stashed it in a box and drew his knife. They perked up and dropped down as well, each happily snapping a small sliver out of the air.

Alright, now they were more comfortable. Which one did he fancy? Hah, like that was even a question.

"Come heeeere Toothy," he bade, waving a lump of fish pinned between his thumb and the knife. Toothy looked at him, then at the fish, then back to him. _Oh yeah…_ That was the other thing, they wanted the fish _first_. Well that wasn't happening.

After ten calls the dragon still wasn't budging, just looking between Snotlout and the fish. Nope. Nuh uh.

After thirty or so calls, Toothy yawned widely and laid down, and Hiccup got bored and wandered off to a patch of sunlight by the edge of the arena. Still not happening.

He completely lost count after Toothy curled up and made to go to sleep. "Fine!" he snapped and threw the morsel, which was instantly snapped out of the air despite the dragon's appearance a moment ago. _Then_ Toothy approached, calmly sitting down about a pace away.

Progress… sort of. Not really. He let out an exasperated sigh. "Go over there," he said, pointing in a random direction. Toothy looked at him, looked where he was pointing, looked at him, then laid down again. Growling, Snotlout tossed another piece of fish – smaller this time – in that direction just to get the frustrating dragon a little further away.

"Come on Snotlout, put that awesome brain to work!" he told himself. He went through all the ways he knew of dealing with infuriating smart people, and stumbled on a memory of when Hiccup had still been young and innocent.

A devious smile crept across his face.

* * *

Wanderer didn't like this smile on the young Long-Paw, and Dreamer's quiet hiss said he didn't either.

The smile was gone in an instant, replaced with nonchalance and superiority. _Wwrr, here we go again_…

The Long-Paw – Dreamer only ever called him rock-head – said _command_ in their strange language and pointed down at the ground. Wanderer sat down and yawned; he could do this all day.

A little of that repugnant smile returned as he slowly carved off a piece of fish – and tossed it to Dreamer, who looked at the tasty, chewy morsel in surprise. Ever so slowly, the toothy joke-smile crept across his face. _Sss_, now there were _two_ suspicious grins directed at him, and Dreamer's jokes were very tricky. Wanderer narrowed his eyes at him and then the Long-Paw. _What game are you playing…?_

The Long-Paw repeated the sounds and the motion, then slooowly carved off another piece of fish and tossed it to Dreamer as well. And again. And again. Dreamer was looking increasingly smug, purring loudly and making exaggerated motions of chewing and licking his chops.

What was happening? The fish was now half gone, and the rock-head was veeery slooowly carving out a nice large chunk. When Dreamer shot him an excruciatingly smug look at this next instruction, Wanderer growled and grumbled and trudged to the Long-Paw. He was met with an acceptably moderate amount of enthusiasm, the lump of fish, and another instruction.

He glared at the Long-Paw. _No_. But when Dreamer was tossed another fat strip of that chewy, tasty fish, then another, he grumbled and dutifully went where told.

Another instruction. No, this was humiliating, he stretched out his wings and made to take off – and the Long-Paw beamed and made to toss the remainder, about a third, of the fish to Dreamer. Wanderer paused, crouched low with wings straight up.

"…Go! Fly!" Dreamer encouraged him, baring his teeth in the joke-smile again.

Wanderer fumed, cornered. He wouldn't hear the tail of this either way. "You say this Long-Paw rock-head," he growled as he folded his wings. If he was joked either way he might as well get something out of it.

"Hrrmm, he rock-head. But he good at… this thing."

He decided on a precise rebellion. Dreamer had received about half the fish by this point, but Wanderer was loath to outright obey, so while the fish remained he refused the first instruction and complied with the second. That way they'd each get half of what was left.

Except that rather than try to cut the head – the best bit – in half, the rock-head offered him the whole thing. There would be no second chance. Wanderer growled all of his scorn at this Long-Paw and went where told, though there was _some_ satisfaction in Dreamer's disappointment; a small consolation.

The Long-Paw whooped and chanted, waving a foreleg in the air as he ran from the rock-hole. _Good riddance_.

Dreamer warbled at him. "You take new Long-Paw? He look… _heavy_."

_I can level from this fall_, Wanderer assured himself while he sunk his teeth into the very satisfyingly chewy treat. "Hrrmm, they try on _all_ Nightstrikers?" Oh yes, that quietened him nicely.

* * *

Fishlegs eyed Snotlout suspiciously. He'd only been gone a few hours, and was now so giddy he could hardly keep himself still.

"Alright then Fishface, let's make a deal. If I _can't_ get one of the Furies to do something without feeding it first, I'll do whatever you want for a _mo_–… a _w_… _two days!_"

Hmph, shows how confident he was if he dropped _that_ quickly. Still, Fishlegs' curiosity was piqued. "And if you can?"

"Hmmm," Snotlout stroked an imaginary beard while he thought. Something was _definitely_ up if he hadn't thought of this part. "You admit to everyone that I'm the best dragon trainer and that I'm awesome."

"I will admit you are a _good_ dragon trainer and I'll never question your training abilities again." As safe as it was betting against Snotlout, it was best to err on the side of caution.

"Deal. I only want to rub your stupid face in it anyway. Meet me before sundown in the stables," he said as he started to run off. "and bring Astrid!" His chanting of his name could be heard disappearing into the distance.

"Well, this ought to be good, eh girl?" He rubbed Meatlug's head and she replied in her deep, excited chatter. "Now, what am I going to have Snotlout do for two days…? Hmmm…" He'd have to think on it later, Hork had asked his help in relocating a Timberjack that seemed tempted to nest in the logging grounds, and Astrid was waiting for him there. He filled a sack with fish from the nearby storehouse, attached it to Meatlug, and departed.

Once they'd shown the Timberjack a nice flat to nest on at the opposite end of the island and made sure she was settled – no small feat, as it turned out – Fishlegs caught Astrid before she went to take off. "Hey, Snotlout wants to meet us in the training ring at sundown. Says he's trained the Furies."

"Oh ho, _this_ I gotta see," Astrid murmured with equal parts surprise and eagerness. "Should we bring the twins?"

"Sure, why not. _If_ we can find them, Odin knows what they get up to with their time."

She groaned. "Hopefully they mellow out over the years. Tuffnut's been better lately but I'm having trouble settling Ruffnut down anywhere."

"Yeah, have fun with that. Glad _I'm_ not going to be responsible for them."

Astrid groaned again as they took off.

Exactly _what_ the Twins had been doing scaling the Great Hall, it may never be known, and Fishlegs had learned not to ask questions. At least it had made them easy to find. He'd also learned not to worry when they did things like _jump off_ the Great Hall, because by some fluke they always walked away from it, such as now when Barf and Belch swooped in from nowhere and caught them mere feet from the ground.

The sun was still a ways up, but with nothing much better to do Astrid dragged them to the training ring to drill and train, as that was apparently the subject of the day. Admittedly, they hadn't been getting as much done as they should have, with Fishlegs and Astrid being busy and the twins… being the twins.

Right on cue the two Furies swooped in as the sun touched the horizon, perching on the fencing above the ring to watch. Hiccup still looked terrible, and was now about half the size of Toothy; Fishlegs' fault, partially, but he wasn't sure how to make it up to the little guy other than grant his wish of treating him like a regular Night Fury… as best he could. Hiccup and Toothy had both been right, he wasn't entirely happy for knowing. It was at least nice to know they were alive, but so far only awkwardness had come from it.

"Fishleeeegs?" Astrid waved in front of his face, snapping him out of his thoughts. "You okay? You've been zoned out a while."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Hand signals, right?"

"No, Snotlout is here."

Ooooh, that. His bet with Snotlout. In hindsight, it had probably been poor judgement to go along with that, but he had no way to do anything about it now. He cast another look at the Furies while walking Meatlug to the side, they were chatting between themselves too quietly and quickly to keep up with. Toothy looked a little grumpy, his dangling tail flicking irritably, but then they gave each other a _terrifying_ smile full of teeth that set Fishlegs on edge.

"Watch and learn from the master, Fishface." Snotlout announced with his arms spread wide. "Astrid, I devote this to you. You look gorgeous today by the way, very sharp." He gave her a lecherous smile while she just stared back deadpan. "And now I will reveal to you all what shall become known as 'The Snot'." He finished his act with a flourish as everyone snorted, then waved a dried herring at the Furies to entice them down.

Fishlegs was getting better at reading the Furies' more subtle expressions, and if he had to put a word to their current ones it would be 'stern'. They sat down several paces away from Snotlout and each other, so that they formed a sort of triangle; this must also be part of it, they were normally inseparable.

"Oh good, you know the drill," Snotlout said idly as he cut the whole dried fish – Fishlegs made a note to ask Hiccup about their obsession with them – in half. He waved the tail end at Toothy and beckoned him, but the Fury just stared. Snotlout grinned, and – to everyone's surprise – tossed the fish at Hiccup, who snapped it out of the air. The Furies still held eerily straight expressions.

"Come here Toothy," Snotlout repeated with a regal gesture.

The Night Fury took slow, measured steps forward. The wrong Night Fury. Hiccup, sitting slowly near Snotlout's feet, gave him that same feral grin with the tail of the fish poking out from the side of his mouth.

"Wait… wha…?" Snotlout took a few shaky steps back, frantically looking between the two Furies and the fish in his hand.

"Ha, you moron, that's thff–" Tuffnut got out before Ruffnut clamped her hand over his mouth.

Fishlegs could see his method, recognise it for what it was. It may very well have worked before, if the Furies were just messing with each other. It might even work properly under different circumstances. However, by bringing everyone here and trying it again, he would be humiliating them, and this new Hiccup would not have simply taken it or allowed his friend to take it. And so, they had humiliated him instead. It was poetic, in a way.

Except for one _small_ detail – Snotlout did not _do_ humiliated. His tiny brain couldn't comprehend it. Fishlegs realised this all incredibly quickly, being familiar with Snotlout. Not as quickly as Hiccup, who was already jumping back. But even that was not as quick as not thinking at all, which was exactly what Snotlout did before his boot connected with the inside of Hiccup's foreleg.

The little Fury spun in the air with a shrill cry, nearly landing on his paws but stumbling to the ground.

Everything happened at once. Tuffnut and Astrid had crossed most of the distance before Hiccup even came to a halt, and Snotlout disappeared beneath them with the sounds of iron on stone and choking. Toothy was instantly at Hiccup's side – Fishlegs hadn't even seen him move – to check for injury. Hiccup looked more surprised than anything, and just watched things unfold.

When Astrid had moved, Stormfly also thundered forward but without clear directions she could only prowl around the edge of the confrontation, spines flexing dangerously. Hookfang was none too pleased with having his rider assaulted, but was equally confused and could do nothing but bluster from the side.

"Everybody calm down!"

"Stop it guys!"

Fishlegs and Ruffnut looked at each other, startled, but then nodded and leapt into action; Ruffnut to diffuse the situation with the pile on Snotlout, and Fishlegs to calm the dragons. He first edged around the ring to Stormfly and put a hand either side of her head, prompting her to still, then guided her backwards towards the wall. With a stroke up the top of her head and along her head spines, she calmed enough that she no longer seemed ready to leap into the fray herself.

Hookfang was more riled, with a greater temper and with his rider the one under attack – it was uncertain if he'd been watching the stunt – but Fishlegs grabbed a horn to hold him still. A gentle tone and a comforting hand on his snout had him bring his wings back down and settle into a nervous crouch, good enough for now.

He then turned his attention to the Furies. _Please let this not be awkward…_ The best way to calm Toothy was to attend to Hiccup, so he sat down next to the little dragon, did his best to give him a concerned and comforting smile, and held his hand out.

Hiccup eyed him warily, then shuffled forward and offered his right foreleg, the one that had been kicked.

"Tell me if it hurts, okay?" he said quietly, lightly pressing on the leg and working his way up it.

_Yes_, Hiccup responded, pulling his head back to watch. When there was no reaction to pressure anywhere, Fishlegs gently moved the leg through its range of movement, watching for any sign of pain. Only a small twinge as it was pulled to the side.

Glancing at the others, he murmured to the dragon. "Small nod if yes. Does your shoulder sting? Ache?" _Yes_. "A little?" _Yes_. "The impact feel bruised? Deep bruise? Nothing?" _Yes_, but slow and uncertain. "Nothing worth mentioning?" _Yes_. "Wow, that made things a lot easier. I'd envy Gothi, though she has to deal with, you know, _that_ lot." He tipped his head back to the pile of teens behind him, and they grinned at each other.

He sighed. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth. I should have seen this coming."

_You, not, know_, he translated in his head as Hiccup talked._ We, not, –, also_.

Fishlegs did his best to repeat the unfamiliar sound, and Hiccup tapped the top of his own head, then put a claw to his lip while looking up.

"Think?"

_Yes. We, not, think_.

"I don't think anyone expected this. Don't worry, your–… Stoick will _not_ be happy about this."

Hiccup snorted and rolled his eyes.

"It doesn't seem injured, but try to stay off that leg tonight. Tomorrow, start stretching it, but only until it hurts. Don't push it."

_I, good,_ he said, stamping a few times to demonstrate. He didn't seem overly upset about the ordeal, maybe he wasn't bluffing. Fishlegs had to appraise him anew, even with – or perhaps even more obvious because of – his malnutrition, his body was rippling with dense muscle, and he probably wasn't even adolescent yet. He also expected Toothy to be baying for blood, given previous experience with the dragon, but he was just sat calmly and protectively between Hiccup and the pile of teens.

Everything with the dragons seemed to be in order, so he stood up and went to check on Ruffnut's progress with the others. Astrid was still kneeling on Snotlout's arm, glaring bloody murder, but the head of her axe was no longer pinning him by his throat. Tuffnut was stood to the side looking disappointedly at Snotlout, in his haughty judgemental way.

"Hiccup's fine, maybe a slight twist of his shoulder but not so much as a bruise," Fishlegs announced.

"That's not the point, Fishlegs," Astrid growled through her teeth. "He attacked without provocation, he needs to be reprimanded. _Severely_."

"Hey, he provoked me plenty!" Snotlout shouted from the ground, but shrunk back as the axe loomed over him.

"Woah woah woah," shouted Ruffnut as she grabbed the pommel of the axe. "You're too close to this Astrid, it wouldn't be fair judgement."

"What, you think Stoick is going to be any fairer?" Astrid said coldly.

Ruffnut shook her head. "No. What do the Furies want?"

Fishlegs took a breath to speak, but Tuffnut got there first. "They look pretty chill about it. Life in the wild is, tough, dangerous, they just learn to avoid the dangers." He jerked a thumb at Snotlout. "That means him, now." Huh, that was consistent with observations. Sometimes Fishlegs had to remind himself which of the two of them could actually talk to the dragons.

"In that case…" A sadistic smile stretched across Ruffnut's face. "We should give him to his dad."

Eyes widening in sheer terror, Snotlout started stammering. "No, no, I– I'll do anything! I'll clean the stables! Do your chores! He's okay anyway, right? No harm done? Just don't…"

"Hmmm, yesss," Astrid purred as she watched his reaction, weighing her axe in her hand, then rose to her feet. "Come on then."

Snotlout rose slowly but took a step back, away from her and the exit. Astrid's axe spun. "If you don't come," she said slowly, levelly, "you won't be there to make sure he gets the full story… About Hiccup being _unharmed_…"

Snotlout visibly paled, then his eyes fell to the ground. "Lead the way…" he mumbled, hanging his head.

* * *

While all eyes were on Snotlout, Dreamer tailed Wanderer into their den and out of sight.

This was so backwards. Nobody had cared about Snotlout lashing out before, just told Hiccup he needed to 'toughen up'. Now that he was Dreamer, he'd been more surprised than hurt by the attack – nothing compared to a deer kicking him in the chest – and everyone was making a huge deal about it. How absurd.

Wanderer turned to him, but Dreamer cut him off. "I good."

"I know–"

"I not hurt, nest not let him do again. Also we–"

"Dreamer! I know. You not fragile now. But… you need learn how fight. Fight, not play."

Tension burning in his chest, Dreamer lowered his gaze to the ground between them. "I not fighter…"

"You _need_ know how fight. I… need you know… Nightstrikers strong, very strong, but not if not know how fight…" He took a few steps forward to put himself under Dreamer's vacant stare. "_Please_," he whined.

"I not _want_ fight…"

"Then not fight," Wanderer said quickly. "Know how fight, but not. Better than not know, but need fight. _Please…_"

"…Maybe," Dreamer warbled slowly. "But… later? I not… feel good with this…" He lowered himself to the ground, shuffling his paws either side of his head to try to stop them from covering his eyes as they wanted to.

"…Yes. Later," Wanderer purred, padding over to nuzzle between his top frills. Dreamer shuddered in guilty pleasure as a wet tongue ran down his neck and between his wings, and pushed his paws forward to keep them on the ground. His hearing sharpened to listen for any sign of the teens outside… but they were fading into the distance, which allowed him to slowly relax a little and focus on unknotting the tension in his chest. He didn't need to worry about his shoulders, they were currently being taken care of…

Wanderer was very thorough, and by the time he was finished Dreamer was laying limply on his side and panting through loud purrs. He watched the failing light through unfocused eyes, mind drifting in a strange absent awareness, though his hearing was kept sharp by remnants of the knots deep in his chest. Mostly, from the guilt of his failure to reciprocate… but then, in this lucidly detached state, he realised Wanderer had never expected him to. His paws _would_ have gone over his head with that thought, had they been able to move at all.

And Fishlegs… had been nice to him. Genuinely nice, concerned for him. Dreamer had been too shocked to do anything other than offer his leg to be examined. Nobody other than Wanderer, not even really Gobber, had _ever_ cared as much for his physical wellbeing before. For the first time, he didn't… _completely_ resent Fishlegs for his prying.

…Which reminded him of something…

The thought brought the tension back, but that gave him the energy and will to get his paws under him. Lethargically, he padded over to the side of the den, teased something out from the little nook it was hidden in, and carried it out into the wane moonlight.

Gingerly, he opened the small book and absorbed the first drawing. _Left-handed_. Left-pawed? Well, there was little he could do about that. He flipped the page. Oh yeah, he'd opened the door on his first night in the village, having been unconscious when carried in. He wouldn't have seen how it worked, and Wanderer had not been able to… Heh, that had been a good joke. He flipped the page again to find a rough sketch of himself staring accusingly, with a note that he'd known what a reflection was and where it came from.

There were examples of his innate trust of the villagers versus Wanderer's distrust. The occasional time he'd been a _little_ too understanding of something being said, and sometimes just that he'd known to pay attention when something important had been said. Wanderer's aptitude for flying against Dreamer's obvious inexperience… and finally, several pages of notes while Dreamer helped Fishlegs learn Dragonese.

In hindsight… this was mostly very obvious. At the very least he should have made Wanderer take over more of the Dragonese lessons, particularly in areas Dreamer didn't know so much about and needed to ask the more experienced dragon. He cocked his head at the last page, then flipped through the book a bit more quickly. The writing and occasional drawing was progressively frantic, more and more hysterical. The poor boy must have thought he was going insane.

He sighed and read through it a third time, slower, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything. The basic lessons to take from it were that he and Wanderer needed to tone down their knowledge and experience to the others' level – Dreamer with his knowledge of living in the village, and Wanderer with his knowledge of being an adult dragon. That was doable, he had the most changes to make, and Wanderer just needed to not to show off his flying so much while Dreamer learned. He could be a _bit_ better, but no more pulling off everything flawlessly. They could talk about it tomorrow.

"Hey, Spine-Tail?" he chirped quietly. A shuffle and curious warble indicated she was still awake before she emerged from her den. "You can fire this?" He set the book near the centre of the ring and stepped backwards. "Please."

She warbled wordlessly at him, confused, but plodded forward and bathed the book in white-hot fire, the hottest of all known dragons. Light flooded the ring, Dreamer's eyes adjusting quickly enough that the discomfort lasted only a moment, and after a few seconds the assault ceased. Eyes quickly readjusted to the darkness to see Stormfly tilting her head to examine the red-hot stone as it dimmed. Of the book, barely as much as ash remained, not even a scrap of the leather cover was to be seen.

Dreamer walked forward, heedless of the heat under his paws. "_Thank you_," he nuzzled as she gave a purring croon. On a whim, he licked under her rounded chin, and she pulled back with a rattle as her spiny frills stood up. They slowly lowered back down as she considered him.

She leaned forward again, and he squeaked in surprise as her giant tongue knocked him over. There was no aggression or malevolence as her giant mouth tenderly closed down on him, and his body reflexively went limp. He was acutely aware she only had to bite down and that would be it, but the sharp teeth didn't hurt, and it was with the utmost care that she carried him. He idly watched the ground pass underneath with the regular intrusion of large talons, and just let himself dangle.

Ever so gently, she set him down on the stone and quickly enveloped him between her body and wings. Even with his incredible night vision it was almost pitch black, some moonlight just barely soaking through her wing membranes and peeking through cracks. It focused his other senses, heightened his awareness of her soft leathery chest he was wedged underneath, her light musk punctuated by the smells of leather, scale and chitin. His instincts were a little confused, as if he'd been put to bed in someone else's house. "I not your hatchling!" he squeaked uncertainly.

Stormfly's head appeared above and nuzzled him with an almighty purr that vibrated through his whole body. "Just this night," she warbled melodiously before enclosing him again. He wondered somewhat giddily if this meant he had two adoptive dams now. Rrrmmm, it was hard to think straight with her deep, rumbling purr rolling through him.

He was vaguely aware of sounds. The cocoon briefly opened and Wanderer was dropped in next to him, then they were squashed together in a tangle with very little room to move.

"…What happening?" he asked quietly as he shuffled to get Wanderer's back-spines out of his side.

"Just relax, it good," Wanderer replied, nuzzling Dreamer's flank – simply where his head happened to be. "I think… we need this. Me also. Maybe Storm-Fly also. It good." His purrs were drowned out by the ones radiating from the soft wall pressed against them.

Dreamer had no idea how to feel about it… but before long, he didn't care how he felt. Right now, at this moment, he was just so _incredibly_ warm… and… _safe_…

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_Clarification - "size" does not mean "height" so it would be more accurate to say Dreamer weighs about half as much as Wanderer right now. He's just noticeably smaller in all dimensions._

_This chapter originally had a wildly different ending, one that was completely pointless and very out of character, followed by a path I have since realised I don't want to take (thank you Aelan-the-Guide for allowing me to bounce ideas off you). All in all I scrapped over a third of the chapter. Never before have I been so glad for my writing process, I have no idea what I was thinking when I originally wrote this two months ago._

_That being said, I have no idea how I ended up with this either xD I just kind of put my fingers to the keyboard and when they came away I had a good length chapter with an ending I'm quite pleased with. It's strange watching this story evolve, I have a skeleton of how events will unfold over four acts but little idea of the development of the characters along the way. They are dynamic. Dreamer having his 'Hiccuppyness' reasserted was important, but it was not my intent to continue nudging him away from his loyalties to Berk. The motivation behind the last scenes were purely to fit the personalities of Snotlout and Stormfly, but I am more than happy to build the resulting developments into the rest of the story and see where it takes us._

_And with that note, 'Act Zero' comes to a close. _It is time we get started.

**(( 71BCqL2ecoE ))**  
"Warrior"


	9. Assault

Astrid stepped out into the misty dawn, rolling shoulders and flexing muscles in preparation for her morning drills. Summer was a beautiful time of year with long and often sunny days, a time of productivity and growth. Also a time of high tension and irritability, but she felt more prepared to deal with it this year.

She broke into a jog up to the Great Hall where she ate her fill of fruits, cheese, bread, and chicken. She also casually slipped a few drumsticks into a pouch before making her exit, and after another quick stretch she took off at a brisk jog. The rhythmic thumping of her boots on the bridge echoed down to the channel below, and she focused on the sound to ensure it was still crisp and sturdy as well as feeling for any flex in the boards.

The greenery had threatened to overtake the path in the spring, but now that they were heading into summer the growth had slowed down. Regular visits to the stables maintained a trim wall of leaves in some places, but the path they had worn to the cove last year was completely hidden. After the war had ended, she'd gone there every morning the weather had allowed until the melting snow filled the basin with water; it was probably returning to normal about now. She was accustomed to losing friends and relatives, but Hiccup had been different for some reason. It wasn't so much his death that had shaken her, but his life.

Astrid respected strength, in all its forms. The boy had certainly possessed a sharp mind and – unfortunately – a tongue to match, but what had struck her was his conviction when he finally found something to fight for. That one word of reply when she'd incredulously asked if he was going to betray his village, and the fire in his eyes as he spoke… It still prickled her skin.

Her heart went out to Toothless, wherever he was. Most thought he'd run off to die, but he could have stepped out into the storms any time he liked. No, he'd specifically waited for spring, which meant he had a plan. Probably best not to spread that idea though, it would not do well for word to leave the island of a downed Night Fury.

She clamped down on her thoughts, _get a grip Astrid_, and picked up her sloppy pace. Even after a whole year, passing that path still zoned her out. She needed to be stronger than this, that was all behind her now and she should look towards the future. _But there will never be another Hiccup_… She beat the ground harder, focusing on the rhythmic _thump thump thump thump_ of her boots.

At least this little routine pushed her limits, and she reached the training ring out of breath but always a little faster. Stormfly was patiently waiting for her in the middle of the ring; Astrid was never sure if she rose early or woke to the heavy footfalls. "Morning girl," she cooed after steadying her breath. "I got something for ya!"

Stormfly chittered and bobbed happily at seeing her rider, starting to walk over, but went still when a chicken drumstick was revealed. It was best to get them out _before_ the dragon smelled them, that was always trouble… Astrid gestured, holding her fourth and fifth fingers up, then pointed them at a target leaning on a bench at the side of the ring. Stormfly flicked her tail to neatly deposit two spines into it without even looking. Astrid grinned and tossed the drumstick to be snapped out of the air, she had to wonder what the appeal was when it was just swallowed whole like that but whatever made her friend happy.

She procured a second drumstick from the bag, earning Stormfly's avid interest again, and made a circular motion with her forefinger. The dragon chittered and jumped into the air, quickly swooping out of sight. Astrid used the few minutes of solitude to properly replenish her oxygen, getting her breathing completely under control before a shadow fell over the ring.

"Good girl!" she called out and tossed the drumstick up, and it too disappeared into Stormfly's giant mouth. "Alright, come on down and we'll see what you've got today."

The saddle was inspected and secured, and Astrid strapped herself in. She spared a glance at the Night Fury stable but as far as she could tell the pair seemed to rise well before dawn. Maybe she'd find them today, she was curious what they did with their time. The ground then shrank below her, and Stormfly laboured up into the low clouds.

Presumably the experience was different for Hiccup, as he actually had to control part of his dragon, but Astrid was now understanding his advice. Neither rider nor dragon was in complete control, and yet both were. When the two clicked, they operated with the same mind and _felt_ each other like an extension of their bodies. She closed her eyes and focused on the wing muscles tensing under her hands and thighs, the movements of the body against her feet, and a hundred little details that told her what her friend was about to do. And it seemed all she needed to do was _think_ about going in a direction, and they would.

That was why this test was so important; there was no accounting for everything, and she wanted to be prepared. Carefully, Astrid pulled the third drumstick from her pouch and waved it by Stormfly's eye, then tossed it over her shoulder.

_Woah!_ The disconnect was instant, and only a tight grip and a sturdy harness kept the dragon from bucking her off in a snap turn and dive. And the _speed!_ As the strain of rapid acceleration wore off she had to close her eyes to the wind that continuously slapped and pulled at her face.

The experience ended as quickly as it started. Stormfly levelled off into a glide, the deceleration pressing Astrid into the saddle and squeezing the air out of her. Somewhat groggily, she pulled herself upright and sucked in a few measured breaths. "You've been holding back on me girl," she chided, apparently reminding Stormfly that her rider was still on her back. The big head turned to inspect her, then warbled apologetically. "Hey, it's okay, I knew what I was getting myself into. But I'm not some doll, okay? You can play rough." Hmm, that wasn't a bad idea actually, maybe if they fought in play like the Furies did with each other they would better respect each other's strengths and weaknesses.

Astrid's view of the horizon became partially obscured as Stormfly's head spines flared, and Astrid followed the direction she was looking. There was a speck in the distance, one of the Nadder scouts it looked like, working his dragon into a frenzy for speed. Astrid grit her teeth. First she'd find out what had him spooked, and then let that determine how _severe_ his education would be.

She pulled Stormfly into an intercept course, but some way there the mists receded and a figure sailed out of them. A lone boat emerged from the gloom, large and ominous with an enormous sail, but Astrid couldn't make out the crest.

Six boats emerged behind it. And then a dozen behind that, and another three dozen behind that.

The intercept forgotten, Astrid only realised she were getting closer when she recognised the crest on each of the sails – a sinuous dragon in flight, covered in spines – and tugged Stormfly into a bank to return to Berk. The fleet was less than an hour away, and definitely headed straight for her home. "Could really use some of that speed now girl," she muttered. There was no way her dragon could have heard her, but they surged forward regardless, the onslaught of wind forcing her head down and her eyes closed.

Thankfully an hour by boat was only minutes by dragon, and they swooped over the village to the booming call to arms and landed roughly near the Chief's house. Astrid left Stormfly with the other Nadder, Sunburn, who was still jittery and shaky. _No excuse_, but she would have to deal with that later. She let herself in, noting the dim but recognisable hulk of her mentor. "Chief? I saw–"

"Astrid, good timing," Stoick's outline rumbled in his very serious tone full of confidence, giving her just enough to get her hopes up. "Get the other riders together, get everyone off the main island, then take the dragons to the flat behind the village and keep an eye on things. Don't come down until it's safe."

She nearly fell over. "I, _WHAT!?_"

"_Now!_ I _don't_ have time for your second-guessing today," he snapped, then, to the other dim figure, "Let Astrid take care of your dragon, and go get me Spitelout," before disappearing into the back room.

Astrid gaped into the dim light. They'd been _training_ for this, both Viking and Dragon, and they were just being… moved out of the way!? She stormed outside and stood there, fuming. Okay, she needed to calm down, be reasonable about this. She made a show of calming Sunburn, though Stormfly had done a pretty good job already, and waited. She paid no attention to Spitelout entering, but tailed him as he left.

"I–"

"Ohhh, back for more?" he idly cut her off. "I would no go there if I were you, jus' do as yer Chief says." He rolled his head a little when she kept talking.

"But we've trained for this! We're ready, we can fight!"

"Yer no yet an adult, lassie."

"You know how much I've done this last year! And we have _dragons!_"

Spitelout gave no warning, no tell in his stride or posture. One moment he was striding through the village, the next his fingers were around her throat. Her eyes boggled as she tried to backpedal and found that her feet were no longer on the ground, and her arms grappled feebly at his wrist. She landed a solid kick on his torso, but he didn't even flinch, just continued staring at her with cold, unconcerned eyes. She glared back at him, got a better grip on his arm and prepared to swing her legs up, but he chose that moment to let her go and she dropped onto her back, coughing and gasping for breath.

"You know how many times I could'a killed you by now, righ'?" He leaned over her and pointed out to sea. "_Those_ fellas won' hesitate, an' frankly, you're too valuable to throw to the slaughter. The others too. Aye, we _do_ know how much yeh've done, an' tha's why yer being sent ter watch our asses instead o' bein' locked in the Great Hall with the other kids. Now, if yer _quite_ done wastin' me time, I have a war to prepare for."

Astrid grit her teeth as he strode off, she would _not_ break down here, not in the middle of the village. She was made of stronger stuff – but she had been so helpless just now, completely at Spitelout's mercy, and it had her shaken. He was right… she wouldn't last five minutes on a battlefield. She'd had this grand vision of swooping in on Stormfly, setting flame to swaths of invaders, but they had a total of eight dragons plus two baby Furies. These invaders had probably a thousand warriors, all of whom hunted dragons for sport.

She laughed. It was all she could do. Well, she could at least get some people to safety.

* * *

Stoick stood at the dock and watched the lone boat approach, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword planted in front of him. The remainder of the invading fleet was visible, some fifty ships strong, but held position a respectable distance away. As the ship neared, a short figure became visible at its prow with disproportionately large horns on a full open-face helmet.

"Stooiick!" a semi-familiar voice called out over the water. "It's been forever! Did you expand your dock? Ooh I can't _wait_ to see what you've done with the place!"

"Dagur," Stoick greeted the boy curtly as the ship bumped against the dock. He _was_ still a boy, on the cusp of manhood but just not _quite_ there, regardless of what his attire said. "The rumours are true then?"

"About dear old daddy? Yep! Dead as a dragon on Berserk. But I didn't come here to talk about him." Dagur hopped over the rail and landed solidly on the dock, in front of Stoick. They'd only met on a few occasions, and he'd certainly inherited the Berserker lunacy, but 'unhinged' seemed a more appropriate word for him right now as he quickly shifted between immoderate expressions while talking. "I'm here about a different rumour. Wait, is that them? Ooh ho hooh, I'm getting goosebumps! But they're so… _tiny_."

Stoick blinked and followed his gaze. A short way above and behind him on the ramp up towards the village sat Toothy and Hiccup. He wasn't sure if their presence would be a help or a hindrance, but things could hardly go worse than he was expecting. It was unheard of for a Berserker fleet to back down for any reason. "Ah, our little visitors? Yes, they're quite good with the kids. But you didn't have to–"

"_Hand them over,_" Dagur growled, his face determined and grim when Stoick turned back. "If you do, I promise to leave _something_ of this _stupid_ island on the map. Oh, _please_ say no…"

Stoick made a noncommittal gesture, turning one of his palms up for a moment. "I can't give you something I don't own. They're wild dragons, here of their own voli–"

"STOP PLAYING GAMES WITH ME!" came the shrieked reply. Unhinged was _definitely_ the word for this.

"…Alright then." Stoick turned to the Night Furies. "Toothy! Hiccup! Come here and go with this nice man, will you?" Honest to Odin, Hiccup stuck his tongue out at them, and Stoick barked a laugh before he could stop himself. "Well, that answers that. Tell you what, send your fleet home and I'll grant you and, say, two of your men access to our island for a week. You can chase them all you like in that time. I'm being more than reasonable here."

Dagur's eye started twitching, and his lips curled back. Perhaps unhinged was too mild a word. "Reasonable? REASONABLE? What, so you can hide them or send them off!? I don't THINK SO!" he shouted hysterically through his teeth. Stoick fought the urge to roll his eyes; he wouldn't have needed to do anything, they were smart dragons.

The point was moot anyway. Dagur's face flipped from unbridled rage to maniacal, as did his voice as he spoke. "So, 'Stoick the Vast', huh, actually not so vast anymore. Going soft after losing your runt? You even named your pet dragon after him… You're WEAK, you're a DISGRACE to Vikings, and Dagur the Deranged is here to put you OUT of your MISERY!" Oh, yes. Deranged. That was a much better word.

Sighing, Stoick gestured up towards the village, some hundred feet above them. "You might have numbers, but there's a reason we built here. You'll not get up these cliffs."

"We'll see about that! Oh I _do_ love a good battle, nothing like the smell of blood in the morning! Be sure not to die too quickly now, we're looking forward to a hard fight!" His mad laugh was flat and seemed somewhat devoid of depth, like it was more a habit than anything else. The way he moved, Stoick wasn't even sure he was aware he was doing it.

Dagur climbed back onto his boat and screeched for oars. Well, Stoick had been expecting war the moment he'd seen the Chief's attire crudely fitted to the boy, so he wasn't entirely disappointed. And better Berk than the Lava Louts or Meatheads who had much less defensible villages, and lacked other advantages that the Berserkers would be learning about shortly…

* * *

Dreamer watched with mixed feelings as Dagur's ship pull out of the harbour. It had been a risk to come, but he'd needed to know what was going on. Was kind of hard to tell, Dagur changed faces so quickly and the shrieking and snarling voices that came with some of them were just noise.

He _did_ seem mainly interested in the Nightstrikers, if it came to it they could try to lure him away; Dreamer didn't want to think about the state the village would have to be in for that to work. Other than that, all he could do was watch.

Up until today, he'd thought about breathing fire as a curiosity at best, and in terror at worst. Now he was sorely wishing for that long-range firepower that had levelled stone towers, without it he was as useful now as he was as Hiccup. _Less_ useful in fact, he couldn't even help in the forge or try out any of his ideas – though these days the ones turning in his head weren't so much related to weapons, the effect of the bola launcher had turned him off those thoughts. That said, the explosive Night Fury shots weren't exactly something that fostered a peaceful resolution, just death.

"What happening?" Wanderer asked next to him as the boat left the harbour.

"That rot-head want fight. Also want us."

_Huff_. "They attack our nest?"

"Yes."

Wanderer warbled sombrely, then took to the air. Dreamer followed and eyed the boats, they had maybe ten minutes before Dagur could signal the fleet and another fifteen for it to reach Berk. But his father had been right, Berk was not an easy place to attack, the top of the ramp from the docks featured high walls and thick gates, easily defensible. The only other way into the village was over the narrow bridges from the main island, and they could be easily defended or burned.

Even still, he was nervous. There were a _lot_ of boats.

He caught sight of Astrid on Stormfly looping over the village, and winged over to see what she was doing. He was surprised to find her looking… tired. Her face sagged and she slumped in the saddle. _She must have finally found a problem she couldn't throw her axe at_, Dreamer thought snidely. Okay, that wasn't entirely fair, and she really did look down, so he caught up and chirped at her.

She stiffened and looked around wildly before spotting him. "Oh, Hiccarp. Hey theah…" She said more, but was drowned out by Meatlug's thrumming wingbeats bringing Fishlegs up to speak to her. He appeared calm, but once his report was finished, the panic started creeping onto his face, and his hands trembled at his collar. She quickly gave him something else to do and his focus and calm returned, which was admittedly quite good handling of the situation.

His task was apparently to ask the Furies something. "You smell them?" he asked in Dragonese, then pointed at the forest. _What, why would we smell them in… _Ohh, he wanted them to check the forest to cover their flanks. That was also a good idea.

He had to appraise Astrid anew, she'd come a long way in the last year compared to how shallow and self-centred she'd been before… well, Dreamer could think on that later. He chuffed an _affirmative_ and turned to motion to Wanderer, but he'd already started a shallow dive towards the trees. Clearly he was also keen to help his nest however he could.

Dreamer caught up and pulled in beside him. "We look from there," he gestured to a sharp rise at a tangent to the cliff at the edge of the island, "to there," he gestured to a cluster of dense trees on the other side. The line between the two points was a reasonable distance from the treeline, and mostly featured difficult terrain that would slow any group of attackers. It also offered the best cover for a quick hunt, and should not take too long to search.

They hit the ground running. It was harder now, but he managed to hand control to his instincts and let them focus his attention on the task. He snapped into the hyper-focus of being in complete control of every movement. Silent, swift, deadly, he was a hunter again, eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring.

_Stop_. His paws planted onto a thick tree root and his legs absorbed his momentum, instantly bringing him to a halt. He put his nose to the typically confused Long-Paw tracks, and followed them to a nearby bush they had brushed against to leave some more useful scents than the bottoms of leather boots. _Female, young, alone,_ not a Berserker army. Moving again to catch up to Wanderer.

_Stop_. More tracks, laden with land-prey dung and hay. A farmer, he didn't need to know more. He rocketed past Wanderer, ignoring whatever trail he'd picked up, and in short order had found footprints appearing to belong to an old man. It seemed the Berserkers were going for their typical raiding strategy, overwhelm with numbers in a frontal assault. When the Nightstrikers reached the cliff on the other edge of the island they just leapt off and soared on the wind blasting up it, quickly spotting and gliding over to the riders and dragons on one of the flats above the village.

With a quick shake of his paw at Fishlegs, Dreamer noted with satisfaction that while Snotlout was blustering his usual arrogance, he absolutely _reeked_ of fear. _Moron_. Below, his excellent vision could pick out most of the adults gathering along the lower cliffs, facing the approaching armada. A few were herding children and teens – some of the older kids were being physically dragged – to the Great Hall, where they would be safer.

The Berserker fleet had rearranged into three wide rows, each boat practically touching the ones beside it, and were minutes away from engaging – with a yip, Dreamer was snatched up and bundled into an embrace.

"Oh Hiccy, Toothy, thank Thor you're safe. I dunno what I would have done if I lost you guys," Tuffnut cooed as Dreamer squirmed to get free.

There were gasps around him and the embrace loosened enough that he broke out, but all he could see were the rows of warriors behind makeshift barriers and the approaching ships that were now dangerously close. _Huff_. He needed a better look, so took to the air and ignored the Long-Paw shouts that called after him. Wanderer followed, though his expression and body screamed _caution_. Dreamer wasn't stupid, he was just going to circle overhead. Far overhead.

* * *

"Loose!" Nearly two hundred arrows sailed out over the harbour, this time all converging on a single boat. Perhaps two thirds of the volley bounced off it, and the rest disappeared into the water. Spitelout waited with bated breath, watching the boat in the distance and straining to see… A wild smile crept across his face as the licks of flame became visible, growing out of control. The first volley had gone out across several boats, hoping to set them all ablaze, but it seemed the Berserkers were capable firefighters and their sails were somehow fireproof. In hindsight, that should have been assumed.

However, with so many smudges of Nightmare gel burning at the hull the crew couldn't address them quickly enough, and the stuff burned _hot_. They'd had trouble stopping it from burning through the arrows in the few seconds they were in the air.

"Fourth from the right! Ready! Loose!" he shouted again, and there was a muffled roar of another two hundred arrows lighting and the strums of them leaving the bows. With five more volleys, they put four more ships to the torch. The regular clunking and ratcheting of five catapults firing and reloading to their own tune filled the air, though most of the rocks landed with a splash and not a crash. The three ships they did hit sank in moments, leaving Berserkers floating in the water like ants.

It was all mightily impressive… but insufficient. The Berserker fleet slid inexorably towards them, still dozens strong, and when boats were sunk their crew would just grab onto another. Spitelout kept shouting the cues anyway, it was at least hindering the invaders.

The head of the fleet sailed from sight below them – the Hooligans were making their stand a dozen paces from the precipice, and they had no sight of the docks. They could, however, hear the boats crashing into it. Now, Spitelout was looking forward to a good fight, the last year had been very dull without the dragons raiding every couple of weeks, but what followed the splintering and cracking of the wood below set his back hair on end. The Berserkers unleashed their battle cries, feral screams that sliced through the air and grated on the spine. It chilled the blood of even the seasoned Vikings of Berk.

In scant moments, heavy footfalls could be heard reverberating under the ongoing declaration of battle, and the tops of three thick ladders peeked up from the cliff. They were followed by burly men throwing themselves onto the grass, landing on all fours but not stopping or even slowing down in their charge, teeth bared and eyes ablaze with fury and madness.

"Loose!" Spitelout called again out of rote as he hefted his axe and shield, and several arrows found themselves aimed directly at the invaders. The bulbous wooden heads bounced harmlessly from the war paint adorning the bare chests, but each strike left a fist-sized patch of flaming agony on the skin as the Nightmare gel transferred from the arrow. The animals didn't so much as flinch, even as their flesh bubbled and blackened, so deep were their trances that the pain didn't even register. It only served to make the sight unnatural and unnerving.

"Aim for the heads!" Spitelout bellowed as he leapt forward, a score of warriors roaring with him as they met the charge. He felt a mad gleam enter his eyes as his shield soaked up the first strike, an inhumanly powerful blow that nearly staggered his perfect form. He shoved his axe forward, burying the spike at the end into the enemy's throat, then swept it aside to take out the animal next to him as well.

With a grunt, the man to Spitelout's left went down to a blow that smashed through his shield and then his chest, carrying him straight to Valhalla. Spitelout offered his appreciation to the Berserker who had sent him by lopping off his head. It left him open however, and he couldn't sidestep quickly enough to avoid a raking strike across his hip and a quick follow-up strike down his leg.

"Is tha' the best you got!?" he shouted at his opponent while stabbing him in the heart with the spike. He hadn't felt this alive since the last dragon raid, being too preoccupied with getting the village back on its feet to lead any raids. Thor smite him, if he lived through this he was loading up a boat with warriors and returning with a hold of treasure.

He suddenly didn't like the way his shield felt against his arm, noting its bent frame and splintered boards. Shaking it off and throwing it forward, he retreated a few steps to pick up a fresh one, deftly swinging it forward to catch an arrow suddenly streaking for him. The line of defence staggered with the volley, and the Berserker advance pressed forward.

With a particularly obscene curse, he saw some more lucid Berserkers emerge from the cliff in between their frenzied brethren, who wasted no time with the Hooligans and leapt straight down at the gate. "NOW!"

* * *

_Nightmare gel on mundane arrows…_ That was Dreamer's best guess as he watched another volley lance down to put another boat to flames even as the first Berserkers set foot on the island. They were bottlenecked on the ladders, but Berserkers fought with a complete disregard for themselves and with seemingly no heed of pain or death, and _so many_ boats were offloading their warriors… Even the crew of the sunken ships were swimming over and climbing onto the wooden planks. As unassailable as Berk was, this was looking _bad_. They should have collapsed the ramps entirely, but it was far too late now.

He grimaced as a volley of arrows sailed from the third row of ships, up and into the archers on the cliff. The low angle was a huge disadvantage but by sheer numbers some of them found flesh. Several sailed much too high and harmlessly into the deserted village. Those were some good bows.

Dreamer wheeled back over the harbour. He couldn't even see the docks now, they were so overrun, and the Hooligans holding the cliffs had slowed the charge but were gradually losing ground. This was getting _very_ bad, he had to do something, had to–

The feral howls turned to a chilling cacophony of screams as fire spilled from the cliff, spun down the ramp, and flooded out across the docks. Thick black smoke quickly obscured the sight for which Dreamer was very grateful; it couldn't, however, mute the curdling agony of hundreds of men being burned alive. If that was also Monstrous Nightmare gel – it couldn't be anything else – those flames would sear skin from muscle in seconds.

He wobbled in the air, suddenly lightheaded, and added his breakfast to the scene. Wanderer was quickly at his side, crooning his worry. "I… I fine…" he stammered. "I think I need land…"

* * *

Ugly black smoke billowed from the docks, and the distant sounds of metal on metal rang up over the village. Astrid craned to see more, but from this distance it was pointless.

She'd been in dragon raids and knew the energy of a pitched battle, but from so far away it seemed… placid, tame. That smoke looked ominous, but she knew whoever was on the receiving end of it would have a very different opinion.

A wince crossed her face as movement flickered in the air from the ships, it looked like that third wave was full of archers. She could see some of the specks on the cliff dragging other specks back from the front line, and felt sick with worry for her family somewhere down there.

Something else entirely caught her eye – smoke was drifting up from one of the houses near the base of the village, behind the line of Hooligans. "Fire… Fire!" She spun on her feet, Stormfly instantly by her side and offering her the saddle. "Mount up, we're back on fire duty!" She assessed the situation while the others scrambled onto their dragons. "Fishlegs, fill up whatever barrels you can from the sea, and keep them full. Ruff, Tuff, Snotlout, focus on the fires on the rooftops. Move!"

* * *

"Can't you fire any faster!?" Dagur questioned the boats behind him, but he was met with silence. _Tch_, he didn't get why the women would all want to sit back with a bow, it was so _impersonal_, but whatever. He and his men would be more than happy to carve up as many Hooligans as met them in battle, and maybe a few more for sport.

A rock clipped the side of the ship, staggering everyone on board. No damage was done below the water, and nobody had fallen and needed to be thrown overboard. Good.

"Get moving!" he commanded as the boat began to turn, swinging away from the docks packed with berserk soldiers, practically climbing over each other to get onto the island. Seemed likely they'd take the gate soon, but Dagur wasn't going that way. The Hooligans fancied themselves smart, and it was suspicious the ramp was still there at all.

_Whoosh_. Maybe a roar, but more of a whoosh from here. In moments, the docks had ignited in beautiful fire, and deliciously musical screams filled the air. Dagur gazed at the sight in gleeful awe; it was absolutely _stunning_ how quickly the bloodlust had turned to pain and death, not easy to do to a Berserker. Too often the first wave took all the glory, to the point it was often considered a mark of shame to be left in the second wave with nothing to do. In Dagur's opinion, any opponent not capable of fending off the first wave was not worth fighting at all.

A mighty laugh built in his chest, and he thrust his axe to the sky. "FORWARD! TO BATTLE!"

* * *

Hobbling as fast as his peg would allow, Gobber trundled a cart bristling with replacement weapons and shields behind the front line. He was skilled enough in fighting dragons to do so without needing a shield, which was just as well since he couldn't hold one, but only a Berserker would fight a Berserker without some way to block the attacks. He was sure his prosthetic could deflect a few hits, but the rate those shields were shattering did not match his confidence in his stump.

He was therefore relegated to a support role, along with a few young adults who weren't quite ready for an onslaught such as that the Berserkers promised, and some of the less spry warriors who weren't quite ready for Valhalla. Gobber figured he had a grip and a step in Valhalla already, the rest of him would follow in time.

That's not to say he was useless, even with the crucial job of supplying new weapons and shields aside. Seeing an opportunity, he dropped the cart, grabbed a spear and hurled it into the fray. It buried itself into the shoulder of a particularly wild invader, not taking him down but slowing him enough that he'd be much easier to take out.

Returning to his cart, Gobber took a handful of weapons and dropped them onto the ground behind the Hooligans as they fought off the remnants of the Berserkers climbing up from the docks. Nasty business that, fire was not a nice way to go, but then again there were few _good_ ways to go in Gobber's opinion. He'd been burned, bitten, slashed, and stabbed on more occasions than he could remember, plus being dismembered twice, and none of them had been particularly pleasant experiences.

He glanced at the fight just in time to see a Berserker tear a nasty wound into a Hooligan with an axe, flinging the heavy weapon around as if it were made of wood. Even as the Hooligan fell he was further relieved of one of his arms, Gobber's spear taking the attacker square in the chest a few moments too late. He tried not to think too much of the 'what ifs' of the fight, how he could have saved his tribesman.

Squinting through the haze, he thought he saw movement – the Hooligan was still alive. For how long was another question, but perhaps Gobber could improve those odds. Abandoning the cart, he limped over to the shaggy mass and made a quick assessment – deep cut down his front, but he had his good arm pressed against that already, and the still-bleeding stump of his right arm.

No words needed to be spoken. Gobber whipped off his belt and tightly wrapped it a few times around the arm. Once locked, it stemmed the bleeding enough that the man had a chance. At least it was already a clean cut.

It was awkward, but a hook in the man's collar allowed Gobber to drag him up to the healers without kicking him in the head more than two or three times. Again, no words were needed, Gobber just dropped him by the door and left the chorus of groans and pained shouts behind him while the injured warrior was dragged inside.

He reached his cart before realising he probably should have got his belt back, or at least a new one. Oh well, his straining belly held his trousers up well enough and he had a spare in the forge he could pick up when he went back that way. If he even needed to, it looked like the last Berserkers were now going down, though it was somewhat difficult to tell through the smoke.

A quiet whistle preceded a searing line of pain lancing across his shoulder blade as an arrow glanced off the back of his shoulder, causing him to shout in surprise. The wound was deep, and while not life-threatening it stung a lot more than it should have. Very suddenly, he was fed up. Fed up with being the cripple, with hobbling around behind everyone, and complaining about scratches. To Hel with Valhalla, he just wanted some fight in his blood to take the edge off his nerves and dull the pain.

He grabbed a sword from the cart and stumbled into the fray with a challenging warcry.

* * *

Grimacing at a multitude of wounds, including a rather deep and severe cut down his leg, Spitelout threw all his remaining energy into dispatching the axe-wielding Berserker in front of him. They'd been trading blows for a full minute now, and when his shield had shattered and possibly broken the arm under it he'd resorted to dodging. It wasn't working very well. The acrid smoke still wafting up from the docks was not improving matters, though it was at least starting to clear.

Even though the Berserker he was fighting was freshly missing most of one arm, he continued a frenzied onslaught of attacks with foam dripping from his mouth. A Viking wasn't downed by losing a limb, but this fool was moments from bleeding out. Spitelout actually felt contempt, Valhalla was for those who died in battle giving it their _all_, and that meant using your head as much as your arm. It was the easiest thing in the world to run to a quick death in any fight, but that wasn't how it was done.

These raiders were nothing but rabid beasts surrendering their minds to the mad frenzy that gave them their name. Oh it was certainly effective, had they attacked anywhere but Berk the fight would probably already be over, but it lacked finesse and tact. The Hooligans had stubbornly stuck to their miserable rock despite the dire storms that plagued it all winter and the dragon raids for the rest of the year. Fighting off land-bound animals seemed laughably easy in comparison.

But Spitelout had to admit, this particular animal was giving him trouble, and it didn't look like help was coming soon. Only the fact that he was off-balance was giving Spitelout a chance at all as he desperately and unthinkingly threw himself away from wild slashes that still tore at his breastplate and bracers. He was barely being given a chance to counterattack at all.

Just to top it off, he caught Gobber taking over for a downed Hooligan nearby. Spitelout had to commend the man, taking on a Berserker without a shield, but Berk really couldn't afford to lose him. Not after losing Stoick's boy, there hadn't yet been time to properly train up another apprentice for the smithy.

Spitelout's divided attention was costing him, but landing a solid strike across his opponent's sword arm at least slowed the onslaught of slashes. Actually, it might even allow Spitelout a chance to end the fight. He cleanly stepped aside a slower downwards strike and swung his axe at the side of the Berserker – but never made contact. His opponent swiftly lunged forwards and barged Spitelout with his shoulder, knocking him from his feet and to the ground a few paces away.

Looking up, he groaned as he watched Gobber step inside a swing to stab his opponent in the gut, but received a slice down his back and was thrown to the ground himself. _To Hel with it_. Spitelout dragged himself upright and threw his axe, it spun through the air and lodged itself in the Berserker's chest. It was enough to stagger him, allowing Gobber to slash him across the legs and then relieve him of his head.

_Good_. But Spitelout had his own problems to deal with, and now also weapon-less he could only roll out of the way of the axe bearing down on him. Would he finally know the glory of Valhalla? He'd stopped paying attention to Gobber so was a little surprised when a sword spun into the fight, but it bounced off and tumbled out of reach.

It gave him time for one last play, one last desperate strike before he would never know peace again. Vicious pain flared in his leg, but he pushed through it to rock back, tuck his knees to his chin and kick the brainless attacker looming over him. The Berserker didn't even bother to dodge, just took the kick in the pelvis and went tumbling backwards down the slope and off the cliff.

Suddenly granted reprieve, Spitelout tried to cough the smoke from his throat and pulled himself to his feet with a sigh. Valhalla would have to wait for another day. He shot Gobber a stern frown, and received an innocently apologetic grin in reply.

The sounds of intense fighting drifted over the more scattered clashes around him; maybe there was hope for Valhalla yet. There was still a battle going on, though he couldn't see enough to know where. _First thing's first_… He cut the shirt off a nearby body and used it to bind his leg, a little difficult to do one-handed and blinded by smoke. The second thing was to retrieve his axe, which Gobber handed to him with a curt nod before waddling back from the fighting. Ignoring the squelching in his sock, he clambered up towards the village and blinked his eyes clear.

The archers had bunched aside the rising smoke, and were systematically trying to work their way across the boats of archers, but many had been wounded and two of the catapults had gone up in flames – with a start, Spitelout spun to the village, but there was no smoke there. _Good_. At any rate there were still several boats of archers, and they didn't seem to be going anywhere with the dwindling number of Hooligan archers.

The other battle was coming from the lowest field, where Berserkers had somehow managed to climb onto the island. The how didn't matter, they were there and needed dealing with. Left arm dangling uselessly, Spitelout half-jogged half-stumbled back down, hoarsely shouting orders.

* * *

Stoick bowed his head as the Berserkers died in flame, most never even close to touching Berk's soil. Some might see it as underhanded, but to meet them head-on was suicide and they'd be fools not to utilise the defender's advantage. Particularly when that advantage included dragons, even if he wasn't using them directly.

Some Berserkers had escaped the inferno, maybe two dozen who had been on the ladders or at the base of them where the fire had not touched, but they were being mopped up by Spitelout's group in short order. Stoick narrowed his eyes at the line of ships he could see, the ones still sending arrows up to the island. "It's not over," he murmured to himself.

_Chunk-chunk-chunk-chunk-chunk_.

From his position above and behind the line of defence, Stoick heard the big grappling hooks dropping onto the hard soil over the fading shrieks of dying men, and saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. "IT'S NOT OVER!" he roared, flexing his arm under his shield and bounding down the hill. "TO ME!"

He reached the first hook and sliced through the thick rope which whipped away and out of sight. The first Berserkers were climbing onto the grass as he reached the second, and a few avoided a plummet down to the unforgiving seas below. He went for a third rope, but a Berserker's bare shoulder collided with his side and set him stumbling a moment – only a moment, and with a flick of his hand he spun his axe and cleaved up, alleviating the man of an arm and most of his insides.

Two more charged over the top of their fallen comrade, and their weapons collided with Stoick's enormous shield. Twice as wide and three times as thick as the standard issue, it was more than enough to halt the longsword and heavy mace that embedded into it. Stoick wrenched the shield up, taking the mace with it, and swung his axe across to claim two more lives.

Three more replaced them, but he managed a swing at the ground to cut the line before dancing back. He glanced around for his reinforcements, there weren't as many as he'd been expecting, and noted long arrows protruding from some of their shields. He quickly ran numbers in his head, there were maybe twenty ropes still intact with grapples holding, even only ten climbers each was two hundred invaders. _Not good_…

His tribesmen courageously met the Berserkers with shouts and steel, and Stoick lunged forward shield-first with them to halt the advance. It turned into a vicious melee, wild Berserkers fighting manically even after losing limbs, but with the Hooligans fighting as a team and covering each other. Stoick sliced one man from neck to thigh, seeing too late a Hooligan go down to a Berserker charging past with wild swings. The man next to him would have followed, but Stoick's thrown axe staggered the next charging invader enough that he was slowed and taken down.

The giant sword hummed as Stoick relieved it from its scabbard, a monster blade over a pace long and a hand wide that most would require two hands to swing. Not Stoick. The gleaming steel whirled and arced, batting aside the paltry weapons thrown into its path and cleaving everything else. It was slower than his axe, and the enemy was relentless, but he couldn't afford to drop his shield to two-hand it. Berserkers fought with no regard to themselves, in theory it was laughably easy to bat away the first strike and dispatch them, but the reality was that first strike was _brutally_ strong and they literally fought until they died on their feet. Stoick was only kept alive by the thickness of his shield and the reach of his sword.

He roared into the fray, losing count of his kills as he split a swathe of Berserkers in half. They were unrelenting and unwavering, and would die to the man if it came to it, but the Hooligans around Stoick were not faring so well. He was being forced back to avoid being surrounded. A Berserker barged in behind the sword and met Stoick's boot, and then a smaller figure, distinct by actually being fully garbed, surged towards him.

"_STOICK!_" Dagur shrieked through his trance, leaping forward with an axe in his right hand and a sword in his left. Stoick met him with his shield, but the boy was _much_ faster than the other Berserkers and dodged the following swing with ease. "I'M GOING TO _SKIN_ YOUR NIGHT FURIES AND WEAR ONE AS A _HAT_ AND THE OTHER AS A _CAPE!_"

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_Aaaaand we're leaving it there for the week =D_

_Not much of our Dynamic Dragon Duo in this chapter =( but it's out of necessity. Not really much for them to do here, and I'm sure you guys wouldn't be thrilled if I'd just said "Berserkers invade and kill a bunch of people" xP Also this absolutely smashes my record for "least amount of time passed in a chapter", particularly once the fight starts, but again I figured I should try to do the scene justice._

_It comes to mind that I took over a month to write this. Part of it is that two previous chapters were split into two each, so it's not as bad as it sounds, but part of it was that I needed to step well outside the zone of what I've been writing so far. There is also that you may have noticed that everything thus far has focused on the DDD, and "boring human scenes" not involving them are short and to the point, because that is what I would typically want to read. Well, got there in the end at any rate. Hopefully it's a suitably epic introduction to the arc, and hopefully I'll be able to rebuild my buffer to something more comfortable over the next few weeks._


	10. Comprehension

Stoick pulled his sword across in front of him, then jerked the handle inwards to flick the immense weight forward. A tricky move to anticipate, as the blade suddenly leapt with unexpected speed and reach, and unique to this heavy weapon. _Intend to end the fight with every strike_, his father's words did not echo in his empty mind, but in his actions.

The blade whizzed over Dagur as he fluidly leaned under it, his face was twisted in rage but there was a strangely calculating and grounded look in his wide eyes. Just the fact that he dodged was disconcerting and very unlike a Berserker, but Stoick took it in stride and flipped his grip on the sword to swing down. It was nudged aside by the end of the axe, a wicked thing with a long tapered point on each blade mounted in opposite directions.

Stoick's shield barely caught a sudden lunge from Dagur's sword as well as the immediate follow-up from the axe, but was knocked away in the process. Before Dagur could strike again, Stoick brought his sword forward in a crooked stab, arm straining for speed. When his target dodged to the side, he flicked his wrist and the angle swung the weight of the sword to catch him, but Dagur threw his arms out and up so that the weight of his weapons threw his torso down and under the strike. From there he danced into a flurry of long slashes and thrusts that effortlessly flowed into each other.

Wet, icy claws of fear climbed into Stoick's chest as he desperately blocked and parried the assault, emptying his head and tunnelling his vision. His breathing was suddenly heavy in his ears, muting and distancing the clashes around him. His sword would cleave anything it touched and Stoick could wield it faster than anyone else he'd ever met, but Dagur was either seeing through the strikes or reacting with inhuman speed, and the strength of his attacks were beyond his small frame. Clearly he hadn't just been handed the title of Chief of the Berserkers, though Stoick couldn't spare the energy to think about it.

The axe met the shield again with a resounding _crack_, the impossible force behind it jarring Stoick's arm, and the sword lunged around it towards Stoick's throat; already behind the shield, much faster than his own sword and close enough to smell the blood coating its sharpened steel. He reflexively punched the arm with the rim of his shield, halting the blade at his breast to then rake harmlessly down his front.

In a moment of clarity, he became aware that the sounds of fighting were falling back behind him, but the Berserkers ignored him entirely to rush past. Either they trusted their Chief, or they feared him; probably both. Regardless, the battle was not looking good for the Hooligans, and even if Stoick defeated Dagur here it would not so much as slow the army. He grit his teeth and focused on the fight at hand, slowly moving back towards allies, hopefully faster than they themselves retreated.

Low to the ground, Dagur leaped to Stoick's left and fed his momentum into his axe. Another splintering _crack_ rang through the air as it bit into the shield, thrown into the way just in time. A leap in the other direction, and a line of fire burned deep into Stoick's sword arm, flaring with every movement and quickly becoming wet and sticky. He needed to end this, sooner rather than later. The axe swung again, Stoick angled the shield at the last moment so that it glanced off instead and threw Dagur to the side. The behemoth sword lunged forward, aimed for his chest, but he followed his axe to the ground and rolled back into his low stance.

They stood a few paces apart for a moment, chests heaving as they considered each other. Stoick's surroundings snapped back into sharp focus, the stench of battle heavy in his throat, his armour slick against his skin, and his familiar helmet on his head somehow stifling. Arrows rained down around them, presumably some of the archers had moved over from shooting the boats, but they were simply ignored by their targets and did little to stem the tide.

Dagur casually leaned to the side to avoid an arrow flying at his chest, then lunged forward again with a guttural snarl.

* * *

From near the top of Berk's spire, well out of range of any arrows, Dreamer watched in a stunned daze. He couldn't… _fathom_ what was happening, his head just refused to wrap itself around the situation. His body felt numb and distant, he was barely aware of the air mechanically drawing into and expelling from his dry mouth.

He watched the burly Hooligans engage the slightly burlier Berserkers, constantly reminding himself that every person going down would never get back up, and that many of them were people he had grown up with. For a heart-stopping moment Gobber – easily picked out by his unique gait – had thrown himself into the fray as well, around the same time Stoick had bounded down to the cliff. Eyes wide with panic, Dreamer had frantically glanced back and forth between his mentor obscured in the smoke, and his lone sire cutting swathes out of the invaders climbing onto the island like ants.

Gobber had at last limped away, but Stoick was now up against an opponent who zipped around him like… like Toothless had around the queen dragon. The comparison put a pit in his stomach, and Wanderer's wing pressed down a little more firmly onto his shoulders; as much for comfort as to hold him there.

_Fear_. It clawed into the emptiness, almost a relief in comparison. In most places the Hooligans outnumbered the Berserkers two-to-one but just as many from each side were falling, all of which Dreamer had just watched numbly. As aware of this as he was, his seized mind wouldn't form the thoughts, couldn't process the numbers to tell him who was losing faster.

He could only watch, heart skipping erratically, as Dagur threw himself into the task of killing his father.

* * *

Stoick braced his shield against another brutal impact from the axe, and Dagur's nimble sword lunged forward. Its heavy counterpart batted it aside and followed through to graze the Berserker's shoulder, only quick reflexes left the wound there and not in the boy's throat. The axe dug into the shield again, before Stoick could pull the sword back, and Dagur dragged it down to stab over its guard.

Tensing and twisting to the side, Stoick grunted as the sword pierced his armour and grated agonisingly across his ribs. He pushed back with the shield, growling as the sword was pulled from his body, but Dagur absorbed the momentum and used it to reposition and unleash another flurry of attacks. Stoick was losing a war of attrition, and his allies were still several paces away, to the side now as Dagur kept darting around him.

The axe slammed into the shield again, it was all it ever seemed to hit – the thought came as the sword stabbed _through_ the shield with a shrill squeal, through where the axe had been striking the same place over and over. A snarl tore through Stoick's teeth as it pierced deep into his upper shield arm; that mindless realisation had allowed him to react quickly enough to avoid it going through his heart.

Dagur wisely let go of his sword, but he had been too close to drive the blade home. Stoick bunted him with the shield, pulling the sword free with a hiss of air through his teeth, and sent the boy staggering backwards. Dagur's eyes flickered, his feet got under him and launched him further back to avoid a dozen arrows, but one found his calf. Seemingly oblivious to this, he made to lunge forward again but staggered with the discovery his leg didn't work properly.

Stoick did not hesitate to clock him with the flat of his blade, sending him sprawling limply. Hopefully it hadn't broken his neck, but by the way he tumbled like a child's cloth toy he was unconscious at the very least.

As the weight of the battle lifted, the weight of the war crashed down. The clothes under his armour stuck to a dozen burning wounds, between the blood and sweat it felt like he'd been dipped in a barrel of slime. Rancid slime, given the taste and smell. His lungs strained to take in ragged breaths, and his whole body ached for rest, but if he didn't move now he'd be surrounded. _Thor, I am out of shape_. "TO VALHALLA!" he roared, dragging himself back to life and dancing to the Hooligan line of defence.

His sword hummed to either side of him as he retreated, felling enemies who were just now noticing he was no longer fighting their deranged Chief. A hole opened in the Hooligan ranks and he plugged it with a quick glance at the Vikings who stood with him. Their faces were hard but keen for the fight, and a few of them spared him a glance with a thump of their chests when they could. Good. It was difficult to break a Viking's morale through battle, but if any battle could it was this one. Taking down the enemy Chief had to be a huge boost to morale though, any Viking who fell here would arrive in Valhalla in shining glory and they knew it. Stoick, however, would prefer everyone survived. Valhalla would still be there in ten, twenty years.

But for that to happen… _Where are they!?_ He couldn't look for his reinforcements, another wave of Berserkers was already crashing into them. A few of the shields splintered along with the Vikings behind them, and where the following counterattack did not immediately kill the attackers it allowed for a more deadly second strike. The Berserkers were less suited to such an organised defence, backed by battle-hardened Vikings no less, but there were just so Thor-smite many of them that they would still be the victors at this rate.

A bare shoulder slammed into Stoick's shield and his injured shoulder gave way, shield arm crumpling into his chest, and he staggered back a step. The Hooligans either side of him were quick to dispatch the attacker, but that left themselves open and they were quickly cut down themselves. More stepped forward to hold the line, dropping spears in favour of swords or axes, but too late. The enemy surged through, creating a bow in the line of defence, a weak point that would soon break.

_Finally_, as if thrown by Thor himself, a heavy spear fell from the sky to skewer a pair of Berserkers and pull them to the ground where they struggled limply. The razor-sharp Nadder spine affixed to the end dripped with red, still somehow intact despite the impact and even shallowly slicing into a few legs as they barrelled past.

Another spear fell, and another, and soon they were raining from above. Stoick glanced up to the low cliff they were bottlenecked by, seeing with huge relief that the several archers were now some fifty strong and had all dropped their bows in favour of carts piled high with the spears. Hundreds of them.

Arrows occasionally got lucky shots, but these were heavy wooden poles that tore through the invaders and pinned or crippled where they did not kill, and the deadly hail was relentless. The waves of Berserkers slamming into the line of defence was reduced to a trickle, giving the Hooligans room to manoeuvre and more safely absorb and retaliate to the attacks.

Somewhat prematurely, Stoick let himself slump. He stepped back from the line and let his sword and shield slide from his wet grip, heaving for breath and grimacing at the scene laid out before him. It wasn't as bad as some of the dragon raids the village had endured over the years… but it was close. The last Berserkers were barging through a tangle of wooden poles and every step was over a corpse, until they too resembled pincushions.

There was a moment of tense silence while everyone took in the scene themselves, looking for the next opponent and waiting for the next attack… but it never came.

"We've done it!" The words split the tepid silence, and the island shook with the roar of victory. But to Stoick, waving down the teens circling and hovering overhead, the din wasn't nearly as loud as it should have been.

* * *

Vella eyed the figure descending through the air, reaffirming her grip on her bow but not drawing an arrow. The tension on the boat was palpable – they'd been thoroughly defeated, the fate of their Chief unknown, but before they could swing the boats around a shield was thrust into the air at the top of the cliffs above; a ceasefire. And so, Vella's boat had remained while the others picked up stragglers from the water and drew back to defensive positions.

The figure was unmistakably a Monstrous Nightmare, lazily gliding down on its broad wings to land on a ledge by the still-smouldering docks. The huge form of Stoick the Vast dismounted, a towering giant of a man Vella was only now appreciating the scale of; they'd all heard of him of course, but the tales failed to do him justice. He was built like a Gronckle, had a beard as red and glorious as the rising sun, and was covered shield to sword in blood. By_ Thor_ he was hot.

She peered over the distance at what was slung over his shoulder – no, _who_ was over his shoulder. _It couldn't be_… Stoick held aloft the limp form of Chief Dagur, then set him down on the stone, re-mounted the dragon, and took off. That was… surreal. The rumours of Berk taming dragons to the saddle were clearly true, but as far as anyone could tell they'd only circled overhead in the fight. Or had they? The way the Hooligans had controlled fire had been unnatural, and none of the burning arrows sent over the cliff seemed to have caught. Some magic gift of the beasts?

When the dragon finished labouring up to the island and perched on the edge – Vella noticed a second, much smaller rider dismounting as well – the Hooligans watched while the lone ship retrieved the Berserker Chief. Thank the gods, he was still breathing, just unconscious and with a bloody wrap around his leg. The side of his helmet was dented, but only deep enough to make it difficult to remove.

He wouldn't be happy about his humiliating defeat when he woke, but the tribe had been too recently reforged to lose him so they would gladly suffer the fallout. Shouts for healers rang from the boat as it turned out of the harbour, to join the fleet and sail home.

* * *

"There do we see our fathers, our mothers, our ancestors. May they welcome you in proud and righteous song, hear of your accomplishments this day and roar with you your triumph. May we hear your warcries rise from Odin's great battlefield, that we may know you shall never know rest, and will be there to greet us at our own final days."

Five longboats drifted slowly to sea, each carrying a great pyre and the bodies of fallen Hooligans. Seventy one, and three more who had opted for the blade over their injuries. The amber sunset behind them was so fierce it seemed to be trying to light the boats by itself.

Among the desolate Vikings upon one of the lower cliffs of Berk stood Stoick, raising his bow as his dirge concluded. As with everything he owned it was fit for a man of both his status and stature, an enormous black longbow with thick and ornate limbs. He hated the thing, all he ever seemed to use it for was sending off one Viking after another… and yet, he hadn't had it for the one who had mattered most.

The draw was painful, his wounds had been tightly wrapped but the strain of the enormous weapon tore them open again. It was fitting recompense. His flaming arrow soared straight and true, landing in the pyre of the centre boat where it flickered fitfully, barely visible in the distance. A hundred arrows followed it, the snap of the strings and rushing of flames merging into a single fiery roar, not unlike that of a dragon.

Had he been right to not involve the dragons? Many of the Berserkers had held bolas, though never used them, it was unlikely they could have even got close. Secretly, he was glad the Furies had no fire, he had not had to choose between the lives of his tribe and his commitment to keeping the dragons neutral. Not had to live with the inevitable consequences of either decision.

With the roar fading into the distance, there was only the sound of sniffles over the wind whistling up the cliff. Even as the pyres caught and blazed to life, they were too far away to hear. Just like the warriors upon them.

The sun was still setting when the last of the boats sank into the water and the towering flames winked out, though now the light was warm and comforting. He knew he should be the first to lead the celebration in the Great Hall, but Gobber took one look at him and led it himself with a hearty cheer. Stoick offered his friend silent thanks, and leaned heavily on his bow to watch the sun slowly shrink behind the horizon.

"Um… sir?" The timorous voice startled him, and he turned to see Fishlegs approaching him from along the edge of the cliff.

"Ah… not really a good time, son."

"I know, I'm sorry… but the Furies wanted to talk to you."

Stoick blinked and followed his glance, eyes widening at seeing the two black dragons neatly sat several paces behind him, those big green eyes betraying no emotion. "They…?" He couldn't find the words to finish whatever it was he had started to ask.

"Yeah." He fidgeted on the spot, stepping from foot to foot and wringing his hangs. "They want to know if they… were the reason the Berserkers attacked us."

Hiccup's head twitched, but he seemed to stop mid-motion and nodded instead. Stoick stiffened with a sharp inhale, rocking back on his heels while thousands of prickles danced down his shoulders and back. He suddenly felt very unsteady. _This isn't possible_… He already knew it as truth, but this… He hadn't even come close to comprehending. Now it was all slamming home. _Communication. Intelligence._

Both dragons now looked worried, eyes widening and those little frills drawing back, and it took Stoick a moment to realise how his reaction must seem. He took a few paces away from the cliff – as much for his own safety as anything else – and kneeled in front of them. "That–" he croaked, failing to make the word properly. After clearing his throat, he tried again, softer this time. "That tribe are a bloodthirsty lot. I won't lie, Dagur said he was here for _you_, but he would have come eventually either way. I don't consider this your fault." He held out a hand, but the dragons turned their eerie gazes from him to Fishlegs. _Right, language barrier…_

He glanced back to see Fishlegs halfway through some odd dance and making strange sounds, and had to try _very_ hard to keep his face neutral. When the boy had said he could _talk_ to them… Nevermind.

The Furies chirped between themselves, then both stepped forward to press their snouts into Stoick's hand. Relief washed through him, but then they stepped back and Toothy chirped at Fishlegs.

"…Toothy has another question, sir. He wants to know why you let Dagur live."

Stoick's poor mind was still struggling to keep up, and now this was a _specific_ dragon asking him a question. A _good_ question. The prickles washed down his back again in a great wave, stronger this time, and the edges of his vision dimmed. He was glad he was already kneeling. A Chief had to be able to keep up in conversations, not show surprise to strange customs and not cause offence… but this… this was on a whole other branch of Yggdrasil.

"I…" The words wouldn't come. It was too much. He was exhausted from the battle and arranging the cleanup, tired of death, and as if his failure with his son had not been enough he was now realising the weight of some of his other decisions. The pain in his heart overpowered the wounds in his skin and muscle. Dagur was right. He was _weak_.

He stopped and took a slow breath to steady himself, touched the tough grass under his fingers, smelled the fresh salty air blowing in from the sea, listened to the distant music starting up in the Great Hall. He focused on the present to straighten out his thoughts until he could meet Toothy's fiercely green eyes. "I don't kill if I don't have to. If I'd killed him then another would take his place, eager to prove themselves over the old Chief. We've shown we can defeat Dagur, if he's smart he won't come back."

A long conversation of noises and movements carried out between the boy and the dragons, until the green eyes settled on him again and Fishlegs spoke.

"Do you believe it? That he won't return?"

"…We can hope." There was far too little certainty in his voice, but Stoick was still reeling. _He was talking to a _dragon_ for Thor's sake!_ And what's more, it… _he_… had struck right at the heart of the problem. "Please, Fi–… Toothy, Hiccup… Now is… not a good time…"

Hiccup warbled and stepped forward again, rearing up to nuzzle his cheek. Stoick put a hand to the Fury's head, and then with a rush of air he was staring at nothing but grass in the failing light.

"Fishlegs," he croaked as the boy made to leave. "Are all the dragons…?" He couldn't say the last word, couldn't comprehend it.

"…People?" Fishlegs finished, turned sideways to look back at him. "Honestly, if you want my opinion? I don't even know what a person _is_ anymore." And with that, he turned and continued up towards the Great Hall.

Stoick stared after him until he was out of sight. With the solitude in the dim light, something cracked inside him, as if he were made of wood and been snapped in half. His mask shattered, and he turned and sat down facing the sea to hide his weakness from his tribe.

* * *

"I still think that risky."

Dreamer gave Wanderer a sidelong glance as they wheeled above the village, watching the last of the villagers cram through the gates of the Great Hall. "He not can think like that. Unless we say I me, he not know. Also you had question."

"He not can think," Wanderer huffed, then yipped when Dreamer swiped at his sensitive wingtip.

"Be nice," Dreamer growled as they glared at each other. "Nest still here. He good alpha."

Wanderer held the glare a few moments, then looked down at the village again with his ears drooping. "Yes, he good alpha. I still not like him."

"Yes. I not like him also. But he my sire." Wanderer bobbed a little in the air, his eyes back on Dreamer in surprise. "He my sire, I love him, but not like him." He could almost grin at the bewildered look he was getting.

"Long-Paws very strange," Wanderer decided. "He sad, you not go to him?"

"This… Long-Paw thing, I think. Not thing I can help him." The last of the Hooligans disappeared into the hall, leaving the rest of the village quiet and empty, though the noise from that one structure more than made up for it. He scowled, his demanding fledgling body overpowering the events of the day which had yet to really hit him; his memory of it all felt distant and dim. His sire and Gobber were okay, that was all that seemed to stick, and despite his sensitive nose the stench of the aftermath was a distant discomfort. "Much food in there, but very loud. Not think it good idea…"

"Food?"

Dreamer rolled his eyes, his friend was a _little_ too motivated when food was involved. "Yes, like before cold-season. But this thing very loud."

"What this thing? Sound happy, why happy when nest-kin die?"

"It our thinking. There life after die, it good place for Long-Paws. We sad they leave, then happy for life they had, know they happy after die." Dreamer didn't mention that half of Valhalla involved feasting, who knew _what_ effect _that_ would have.

A gentle warble filled the air. "That good thinking. Be happy for life, not sad for die. Yes. Maybe not all Long-Paw things stupid." His tongue ran across his chops. "How we get food?"

Dreamer rolled his eyes again, then focused on the hall below. "There opening behind, for…" He sighed. "For where food… and he gone." He was alone in the air, with a dark shape plummeting to the hall below. He tucked his wings and let himself drop, looping below the bridge behind the Great Hall and soaring back up level with the top of the village. It was becoming increasingly dark, but his eyes easily picked out the squared shape cut into the rock, near the back. Not something he'd ever really paid attention to before.

He let the wind carry him over and dropped lithely to the ground, Wanderer eagerly landing next to him a moment later. _Well, back to being cute baby dragons, I guess._ He practised a few times to the closed door, watching his vision expand as his pupils dilated, feeling his frills flex, his nose twitch. Maybe it was a little demeaning, but effective, and it did help curry favour with the villagers. If it improved relations with dragons, he'd dance naked on the Chief's table; that he hadn't worn clothes in well over a year notwithstanding.

Before Wanderer could get too impatient, he jumped up to pull the latch and nosed the door open.

* * *

Even the hard racket of the big kitchen wasn't enough to drown out the roar from the Great Hall on this night. Every Viking in the village was inside, though the tables were heartbreakingly not nearly as packed as they should be. A lot more crowded than they _could_ be, at least.

Kari felt guilty that it made the job in the kitchens somewhat easier to manage. Not that it was any easier than usual, a proportionate number of cooks and servers were out there in the celebration, but the price for the night off was far too high to envy them. She herself had no relations in the village, having been one of the many strays the village had adopted.

She enjoyed her job in the kitchens. Oh, she knew exactly why she had been ushered here in the first place, for exactly this reason, but it was rewarding. The Hooligans were very friendly and enthusiastic – never in the bad way – and it was difficult not to smile at their jubilance when more food or mead was brought out. The long war had not broken this tribe, only reinforced it.

But, overall, it had to be admitted it was a bit of a boring job. Cut the vegetables, pluck the birds, butcher the meat, the same jobs over and over. Even more mundane due to the focus they needed to maintain to ensure nothing was forgotten and overcooked, or even worse, undercooked. So it was with a tensely hopeful and giddy heart that she watched the kitchen door unlatch and swing open, but nobody enter.

Everyone was in the Hall, but who would raid the _kitchen_ of all places? Full of people brandishing knives, and food was freely available anyway. She had no idea what to expect when she leaned over to see outside.

…

Nothing. Just darkness, the wind, and… four bright green eyes?

Panic surged for a moment and she stumbled back, fleeting thoughts of trolls and demons going through her head before settling on what was actually staring back at her; Berk's pair of friendly shadows.

She'd seen them flying around the island but never mustered the confidence to put herself forward to meet them. Put on the spot like this, on the other hand, how could she refuse? She set the knife on the bench and sat on her heels, tentatively offering a hand to the Furies. Two dark heads glided forward into the light, and her heart skipped at the little rushes of air between her fingers. A bit late she realised she'd _just_ been filleting fish, but the little tongues fighting over her hand were _painfully_ adorable. It was worth having to wash it.

"Aww, you guys hungry? You want some dinner?" she asked through a big sappy grin. They both perked at that last word, though it was hard to make out more than the four eyes and one little pink tongue still poking out. "Hey Runa…?" she called cryptically behind her. "We got a spare mutton leg or something?"

"Huh? Why?" came the response over the din.

"Just get over here!"

Runa gave an exasperated groan, but Kari had to put her attention back to the Night Fury creeping forward with its nose in the air. "_Hey_, I don't think it's an actual rule not to have dragons in the kitchen but it's not happening." She gave a mock-pout as the dragon looked at her with its big green eyes, more visible now with the light and shorter distance. "Yes you're _vewy_ cute, but it's _still not happening_," she babied, waving her slobbery hand in front of it.

"Kari, what are you _doing_ down there and– _what under Thor's wedding dress!?_"

"_Language!_" Kari lightly backhanded the girl's shin. It's just… erm… Hiccup? And…"

"Oh! Toothy! _Aww_, aren't you the _cutest things_?" She leaned over the bench next to Kari to get a closer look, but then bounced up again. "Mutton leg! On it!" And she was off.

Someone dropped a pot into the dirty pile with a particularly loud _crash_, and both Furies ducked back with their ears flat. "Looks like I don't need to keep you out of the kitchen after all," she teased, holding her hand out again. The smaller one stepped forward this time and nudged its head under her fingers, allowing her to stroke its smooth scales. It felt somewhere between the firm sponginess of leather and the hard finish of iron. A subtle reminder of exactly what these little tykes were, and would grow into. She wiped the slobber from her hand onto it anyway, it didn't seem to mind.

"Erm…" Runa's voice came from behind and above her. "So, Olga caught me…" Kari's heart sank, but then she was being nudged aside so her friend could crouch down next to her, manoeuvring a tray down into the doorway. "She said we can take a break, as long as we're back to serve the chicken soup." The tray was laden, there were two herrings, a whole golden roasted chicken, a bowl of fish broth, _and_ the promised mutton leg. There were also two buttered rolls, but Runa took those back and handed one to Kari to munch on.

The two dragons stared wide-eyed at it all, then at the two girls, back and forth. What, were they waiting for permission or something? "Go on," Kari encouraged through a mouthful, nudging the tray forward.

She was half expecting them to turn into vicious killers on the spot, tearing and shredding at the meal, but if anything they were… _delicate_ in how they ate. The smaller one, Hiccup she supposed, tenderly grabbed the tail of a fish in his teeth – which slid out of his gums with a grating noise before Kari's eyes – and picked it up off the tray to toss it into his mouth and swallow whole. Toothy similarly picked up the chicken, lay it between them, and held it down in his claws while they picked pieces off.

It was actually a lot more civil than the villagers in the adjacent hall. The thought had her giggling, and she then had to explain to Runa.

With a furtive glance around, Runa reached up to the bench and brought down a second bowl, setting it on the tray. Toothy was busy with the mutton, but Hiccup cocked his head at it, sniffing the water so closely he seemed likely to inhale it. His _adorable_ little pink tongue lapped at it a few times, but Kari was a little slow connecting the dots until he made a stiff face.

"_Runa! _You can't give a baby dragon _mead!_" she exclaimed, grabbing for the bowl. Toothy got his nose in it before she snatched it away, then made a little growling noise and firmly whacked Hiccup over the head a few times. "See? Honestly, what were you _thinking_? I should tip this over you."

"I wanted to see if they liked it," Runa said passively as the Furies growled and chattered at each other before going back to the food. "Apparently not. Can you imagine a drunk dragon? It would be _hilarious!_"

"Yeah, right up until he pukes fish guts everywhere. That would be on _you_."

"Worth it. How long's your soup got?"

"Not long…" Kari mumbled as she glanced back at the big pot. "But they'll be done before then I think. Wow, they're really making short work of it all." She stifled a giggle as Toothy made confused faces at the broth between lapping at it, his head tilted and frills standing on end every time he pulled back. "What do dragons do for dessert?"

"You're asking _me?_" Runa scoffed as she watched Hiccup meticulously clean his claws. "What would I know? As far as I know they only eat meat. Certainly not sweetrolls."

"Oh well. Maybe one of the riders…" She trailed off as Hiccup looked her directly in the eye, then without looking away, very deliberately reached over and pushed down on Toothy's head. Which was still in the broth. Both girls fell backwards as a spray of fishy liquid erupted in front of them, staring dumbly as Hiccup was suddenly on his back with Toothy on top of him and snapping at his legs.

Gasping for breath, Kari laughed so hard that no sound came out. Large wings flared and slapped the ground and door as they were thrown around for balance, and their tails quickly swept over the tray and knocked aside what was left of the broth. The strange draconic squeals of laughter and angry growls, both comically high-pitched, kept her going long past the point her chest ached. She couldn't _breathe_, her vision was going dark and all she could see were the silhouettes of the writhing tangle in the threshold. She had no idea how Runa was faring next to her.

She had to forcibly try to calm herself when she remembered the soup, now beginning to overcook, but it took a few minutes. She became vaguely aware of Olga trying to get everyone back on task as they all presumably tried to work out what was going on, and thoughts of how she would explain this later almost set her off again. "C… Cuh uh heh, come on Runa…" she stammered as she forced her shaking legs to support her. "Got a soup to serve…"

* * *

In an odd reversal of roles, Dreamer woke up with the rising sun to find Wanderer still asleep. Usually they woke together, occasionally Wanderer had to drag him outside to get moving, but it hadn't happened this way before.

Although, "woke" wasn't quite the right word. His dreams were a torturous mincing of the battle, full of blood, fire, and screams, and his sleep was light and restless. With the nights now much shorter, he really hadn't got much of it either. Perhaps being sleep-addled would keep him from thinking too much, and he had no desire to dream again anyway.

He shook out his wings to take off as he padded to the mouth of the den, but somehow found himself just perched on one of the boulders to watch the light grow through the dense clouds. For once, his mind was completely blank and silent other than the faint echoes of the nightmare.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Wanderer groaned as he roused. He didn't look happy, frills flat against his neck and jaw stiff. "You regret?" Dreamer purred as he dropped down and strolled over.

"No." Another breezy groan. "…Maybe."

They'd returned to the den last night to find Tuffnut's scent over a pair of small bowls filled with thick cream. As a Viking it had been strange stuff, very rich but also somehow not, best served on something sweet. As a dragon, however, it might as well have been a bowl of pure honey.

He had no idea how Tuffnut had managed to procure the coveted stuff, and wasn't sure he wanted to know, but it was so rich he hadn't even been able to get through it. On the other paw, Wanderer had not only finished off his own, but – against advice – Dreamer's as well.

"I say you not feel good for eat that. You not listen." He nudged Wanderer's belly, eliciting a pained groan. "You lie here all light?"

"No, I come…" He dragged himself to his paws and stretched gingerly. "You not can say what good for eat, you drink rotten water. _Stupid_."

"Not-water make Long-Paws happy. I think. I not drink before, wanted try it. It strange."

_"Stupid_," Wanderer repeated. "Not know if rot-water make Long-Paws stupid, or Long-Paws just stupid for drink it."

"…Both," Dreamer guessed, his tail swishing across the ground.

Wanderer shook his head, swaying a little afterwards, then peered at Dreamer and gave him a nuzzle. "…You good…? You not slept…"

"I slept enough. Not want more." As if to spite him, a wave of grogginess weighed heavily on his head and eyes, and he had to blink it away. "I good."

"Want talk…?"

"No, I… We go to nest. Maybe can help."

"Dreamer…"

"I good!" he snapped, then shied as Wanderer's eyes narrowed a little. "Sorry… Want do something, just… not want feel do nothing. Like… in fight."

"…Yes. We go."

They flapped into the air, Wanderer much more sluggishly than usual, and soared on the early breeze over to the village. Apart from the burned and scorched remains of the docks, it looked like business as usual. However, while he might not have been able to see the red on the green grass, he could certainly _smell_ it. It washed over him as he drifted in, a strong pungent odour of congealed blood that soaked through everything.

Physically, the smell meant _danger_ and put him on edge. Long-Paws were hunters, their blood – and Dreamer was extremely grateful for this – did not smell good for eating, but where hunter-blood was spilled there was danger.

Intellectually, it was revolting. It was the life blood of _people_ who had died here, _hundreds_ of them for a stupid pointless reason. Not that Vikings saw raiding as pointless, it was glorious to die in battle to a worthy opponent, but that was just another disconnect between Dreamer and his old people.

_I'm not one of them._ It was truer now than ever.

With Wanderer lagging behind he sought out Fishlegs, tracking him – even through the rank air – from his house up and into the Great Hall where he was eating breakfast. The Hall was blissfully quiet, the few adults sat at the tables were all groaning quietly and nursing their heads, so the predominant sounds were wooden tapping noises, the scraping of bowls, and loud snores from several places around the walls. Dreamer dodged legs on his way over, then hopped up onto the table next to Fishlegs.

"Ohr, hrey Hriccarp," he said through a mouthful of bread.

Dreamer chirped a greeting while Wanderer climbed up next to him. "You lose kin…?" he asked tentatively.

Fishlegs swallowed and looked down at his plate. "Did I loozs anyone? Not anyone cloes. I got lucky," he said sombrely. "I don't know about the others yett, but it's very unlikely none of us werraffected."

He hadn't taken out his notebook to jot new words into, Dreamer noticed. "You good?"

"Eh… Diddent reehlly sleep."

"Me also." Something clicked together in Dreamer's tired brain, and he nearly hit himself in the face. "You talk, bad. Do my talk."

"What? Why would–" He cut himself off, eyes going wide, then wheeled around on his seat to look for anyone eavesdropping. _Yes, very subtle Fishlegs, nobody suspects anything now…_ A short growl brought his attention back.

"Sorry," he said in Dragonese. "I not good your talk."

"Need talk for get better."

Fishlegs groaned and slumped. "Yes… Why you here?"

"Want do something… Help."

"Hmm… Haow do I say 'loop araund the island to check for sships?'" Fishlegs 'wondered to himself' in Norse.

Dreamer waited a few moments, so it didn't look like he was answering. "Fly around small-land, look for tree-things in sea."

"Mairn, you guyz need a word ffor 'ship'," Fishlegs 'mused to himself'.

_Huff_. "You need word for–" he turned to give Wanderer a lick across the cheek and nuzzle under his chin with a loud purr, then sat back on his haunches and stared deadpan at Fishlegs.

"Pteh, fuh, thass a _wuurd?_" he spluttered.

…_Sort of_… But Dreamer wasn't going to respond to Norse, so he just kept his face straight.

"…Yeah well whatever it means, I'm not saying it," Fishlegs mumbled to his plate while picking up some berries.

Dreamer gave a low bark and dropped from the table to the floor, weaving through the tables and legs again to the door. "You can fly?" he asked Wanderer.

"Yes, we fly around small-land?"

"Bad Long-Paws come back maybe, or not leave. Not-My-Female already do I think, but we see better."

"Yes. We go," Wanderer said with a groan as they leapt into the air.

"I say you regret, you not listen," Dreamer chided as they glided west.

"You also drink rot-water. You not joke me? Long-Paws drink that?"

"Yes… Now I thinking… not know why. It stupid. Not can think when drink."

"Long-Paws stupid."

Dreamer wanted to argue, but had to admit he hadn't seen a great deal of evidence to the contrary.

They lazily drifted around sea stacks and over the sparse beaches looking for any lingering boats or rafts, or signs of one being pulled under cover. They drifted the length of a particularly long beach, over the rocky cliff at the end, and down into the next beach – with a start, Dreamer nearly crashed into the sand, landing a little harder than he'd have liked to and stumbling to a halt.

He knew this beach.

It wasn't big, maybe the length of six or seven longboats and surrounded by steep cliffs that seemed somehow shorter than he remembered. He looked back at the cliff behind him, remembering how he'd slipped and scrabbled up and down a thin treacherous path he could just make out. Silently, in a daze, he walked up the beach and rocky slope to the small, shallow cave.

A tiny trickle of water, no thicker than a pencil, seeped from the rock at the back and ran down one side to the beach outside. How tiny must he have been, to lap at that? He put a claw in it, watching but not really seeing how it interrupted the flow. He saw it through the eyes of a younger version of himself, how it had dried in the drought, and what that meant for the two Nightstrikers who depended on it.

He padded to the centre of the den and pawed at the ground, remembering how many times he and Wanderer had slept in a pile there. It still smelled of them, faintly. This is where Wanderer had given him his name – no, that wasn't right, Wanderer had named him in the cove, before… this all happened. But it had been here that he'd been able to tell Dreamer both their names.

The memories were blurry and dark. What had happened before then? He hadn't hatched here… he remembered… walking a great distance…

Outside, Wanderer was watching him with passive curiosity. Wanderer… had been _looking_ for this place. He'd known where he was going, that it was here. He'd spent the winter in Berk, according to Hiccup's Saga, then they had hatched all the way out here in the spring. Knowing this was here, he'd clearly scoped it out first, but why had they moved? This place was perfect, as long as there was water, _so then why didn't we start here in the first place?_

_And how do I factor into all this!?_

He slowly padded outside to Wanderer, but no answers were to be had from his piercing eyes. Where there _might_ be answers… He turned slowly to look at the cliff, as if he could see through it and along the path they had taken to get here all those nights ago.

"…I not can stop you," Wanderer said slowly, his expression suddenly pained and stern, "but… you need learn things first. Then, when you ready, I tell you."

"What you not want me see?" He flinched at his own accusatory tone. "…Sorry… I…"

"It not that…" his friend whined. Wanderer examined him a moment, then closed his eyes and leaned forward. Dreamer stiffened, a shiver dancing down his spine as he recognised the gesture, one from a long time ago. _I trust you to trust me_.

Dreamer kept his wide eyes fixed on his friend, the best friend he had ever known, someone so much closer and so much more important than a friend. Wanderer had only ever proven, again and again, that he held Dreamer's wellbeing as his highest priority even if it went against his own nature. Dreamer leaned forward a little – and hesitated. If he so much as glanced aside, he didn't know what he would find or how much it would explain… but he would know.

Their noses met. It held a finality that snuffed out all desire to follow that path, to search for the answers he craved. He would still get those answers… eventually, when Wanderer deemed him ready. And he could live with that.

They broke contact and opened their eyes, then Wanderer stepped forward to nuzzle and croon while Dreamer looked around. "We should come back here," he mumbled. "I like here."

"That because this your first den. It good den, yes. We come back." He gave himself a shake and stretched out his wings. "But now we need look for Long-Paw-tree-things."

* * *

A southerly wind blew over the village, and the reaction radiated up the slopes like a wave. Most coughed or cleared their throats, some retched, and a few unfortunate souls lost whatever meagre breakfast they'd forced down.

Astrid was in the second category, dry heaving before she could cover her face with a sleeve, though it was partially because the skinny adolescent she was accompanying had thrown up a vile mix of fruit and gall. She patted him on the back a few times, and waited for him to straighten up. "You okay?"

"Yeah, thanks," he replied as he wiped his face on a sleeve, though he still looked rather pale.

"Alright. When you're done with that, go see Gobber, he's looking for help to sort the metal. It's the… best job I can give you." _The least gruesome one, anyway._

He nodded, hefted his sack and trudged off. Astrid hadn't really been asked to help or anything, Stoick seemed back to his old self in that he seemed to know absolutely everything going on and what to do with everyone, but Astrid had taken it upon herself to do some finer management and make sure everyone had what they needed. Whether that be people, resources, or just someone to talk to. Not only was it good experience but it kept her moving around and able to observe how Stoick did what he did. It also kept her distracted, something she sorely needed right now.

"Astrid!" Ruffnut's familiar voice called after her, followed by the distinctive light footfalls of her running.

"Hey Ruff, what's up?"

"Stoick wants to see you." Astrid went stiff, not able to prevent herself expecting the worst-case scenario; that she'd screwed up, that he wanted her out of the way again, that he was angry she hadn't _stayed_ out of the way yesterday. "He said to meet him at the cells."

If her stomach had been sinking before, it had now fallen out and was rolling down the hill. She somehow managed to keep her expression calm despite there no longer being any blood in her face. "Yeah, sure. I'll just… go now." She put the grisly sack, full of bloody Berserker garments, back with the others then made her way to the cells. She'd only been there once before, more to show her they were there than anything, and as far as she was aware they hadn't seen use in years – though come to think of it, Mildew had probably spent some two weeks incarcerated while awaiting judgement. _Most_ Hooligans realised that the tribe was significantly stronger if everyone worked together.

The simple wooden door was built into one of the sheer rock faces halfway up the village, two paces from a sheer drop to the sea below, where nobody had any other reason to be. Stoick wasn't waiting outside, so as she approached she squeezed one eye shut, an old Viking trick. When she opened the door and stepped into the inky cave, she re-opened her eye – pre-adjusted to the darkness – and strode confidently down the steps in the low light.

Stoick and Spitelout were waiting for her at the end, lit by a lantern hung on the wall, and she tried with all her might to believe this wasn't about her.

"Astrid, thanks for coming," Stoick rumbled, turning to the locked cell next to him, and tentative relief flooded through her. She was still quite unprepared when she reached the cell to find a young girl, about her own age, standing inside. She had long dark hair, tangled and matted, her angled face was almost gaunt and prominently featured wide eyes that darted fearfully between the three of them. She was dressed in a simple course tunic that was somewhat dirty and crusty, like the rest of her, and her hands were crossed over her chest where they trembled.

"Wha– who are you!?" Astrid blurted out. She certainly wasn't a Hooligan, there were only the four other teens Astrid's age on Berk.

"Tha's wha' we're _tryin'_ ter find out," Spitelout grumbled, his arms folded, but said no more when Stoick calmly raised a hand with a nod.

"Aye, she appeared yesterday after the battle, but we were a bit busy at the time. Did you get the key?" _What? What key!?_ He sighed. "Nevermind, let's go get it." Astrid stood in the door of another cell to allow him to pass, then followed him back outside.

He took two paces outside, aside the door, then pulled a key out of a pocket and handed it to her. She just stared at it in her hand, uncomprehending. "Uhh…"

"We've got her story, and we're… _fairly_ happy with it. Enough to release her and have her help, preferably in the kitchen. But she'll trust you more than she trusts us, so I want you to get to know her, get your own story out of her, then come see me and we'll compare. A day, a week, however long it takes, but come to me immediately if there's anything suspicious."

The pieces clicked together in Astrid's mind. Her coming to the cell first, the little show, all to help create an image for this girl to chew over, either to help put an innocent girl at ease or give a suspicious liar something to chew on.

"Sir," she started, forcing herself to look up into his eye. "Why didn't… Why are you trusting me with this, but not with…?"

He sighed and nodded to Spitelout, who shrugged and sauntered off. "This isn't how I wanted to have this conversation, but… we're here now.

"_Everyone_ in the tribe must trust the Chief implicitly. We have a council of elders to keep us in check, but I can't run to them every time I make a decision. That means everyone has to trust _me_, not only that I will be fair and act in the tribe's interests, but to follow me into those decisions without question.

"That means you too. I know you just want to understand, and you will, but you need to trust that I am acting with the tribe's best interests at heart. You need to understand both sides of that blade, so that you can better decide who to tell what. It's far too easy to tell people everything, or nothing."

Astrid lowered her eyes to his knees. "And when you were telling me everything… I expected you to _keep_ telling me everything…"

"Aye. You understand." The enormous weight of his hand rested on her shoulder. "I will tell you everything you need to know, but there _will_ be things I will not tell you, things you need to learn yourself. That is part of being a Chief, and it is all for the good of the tribe. That _includes_ ensuring it has a capable successor."

She nodded numbly, head bowed as her shame heated her cheeks. "Thank you, sir. But, if I may ask one more question… just so I understand. Why aren't we using the dragons? I'm sure we could have found _some_ safe way to use them, dropping rocks or something…"

"Because, if we fight like every other tribe, with hammer and blade, they will remain wary of us as we do of them. If we fight with dragons they will _fear_ us, and seek to alleviate that fear. They are unhappy with your dragons as it is."

Tension flared in Astrid's chest and stiffened her body as she realised the repercussions of her fantasies. Not just the Berserkers, but possibly a united Archipelago converging on Berk. From their perspective, it would be the Dragon War all over again, but this time everyone would know _exactly_ where to find the nest…

"I don't know if I can do this," she gasped, eyes burning and threatening tears. "You, you're in control of _everything_, always two steps ahead of everyone, how–…"

The hand on her shoulder squeezed. "You'll get there, and you won't be alone. For one, I intend to _retire_." She met his eyes again. "Just focus on our new guest for now. One step at a time, and before you know, you'll be ready. Ready enough, anyway." He chuckled. "Some things you learn on the job."

She refused to shed tears as she looked up at him, but they welled in her eyes regardless. "Why me? Why are you so sure…?"

His eyes seemed to twinkle as he gave her a soft smile. "Because you know to ask these questions." With that, he turned and strode away.

Astrid stared after him. _Oh mum… Why did you have to leave me now… I really need your guidance…_

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and ducked back inside, _one step at a time, I can do this._ "Hey," she said a little shakily as she approached the prisoner, then took a slow discrete breath to steady herself. "Sorry about that. And… all this. I'm Astrid, I've been… I guess I've been asked to sort of induct you into the village. Everyone else is kind of busy what with… erm…" She realised, as she fumbled with the lock, that she had no idea how much this girl knew.

"…Yeah. I, er, saw." There was silence until the rusty lock clicked and the door swung open with a grating squeal, but she did lower her hands to her midsection where she wrung them. "It's… nice to meet you, Astrid. I'm Heather."

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_Sooo it was pretty obvious the last chapter was somewhat out of my expertise, eh? xP Thank you to everyone who chipped in with helpful suggestions, it can only improve things going forward! And again to Aelan for allowing me to bounce things off him._

_Chapter titles are interesting things aren't they? I come up with them before posting, sometimes a few days earlier, but occasionally I look back and wonder how I keep accidentally writing these themes into the chapters xP_


	11. Motive

"Well there's really nothing better to do than to get started. New inductions to the tribe tend to go to the kitchen, it's simple work but rewarding, so I'm thinking we'll head there first." Astrid kept a wary ear on the footsteps behind her, light and sure, but it only served to tell her that Heather was barefoot. "Ah… actually, maybe we better stop by and get you some shoes first."

They emerged into the overcast daylight, the gods granting them an acceptable middle-ground between washing away the smell or baking it in the sun. She offered Heather a hand to steady her for the last few steps – the sheer drop just to their side could be daunting – and quickly revised her plan again as she got a better look at the girl. "Shoes, then the bath house, then a hot meal, and _then_ we can show you around." It would be better to keep her busy, keep her from thinking. Not only would it make it harder to keep any lies straight but it was also a small mercy; exhausting her first would allow her to rest more easily the first few nights.

"Okay… Thank you," the thin girl acknowledged quietly. Her eyes furtively scanned the village as they ascended, and her hands wrung more tightly at the bustle around them.

"So, how'd you end up here, during all… this?" Astrid asked as they walked, trying to sound casual and curious. It helped that she really was _dying_ to know.

"I… They attacked our boat on the way past, held me captive on one of their ships. When it caught fire I escaped and got swept away, but managed to swim to a beach." Astrid nodded, there was a current that swept around the main island, on rare occasions a sheep would fall off a cliff and usually be found on a beach not far away. Everyone was taught about it, just in case they or someone else took a bad fall and were lucky enough to survive it. "Then I made my way here, and… here I am."

Astrid clamped down on the dozen questions she had, trying to quell her eagerness to poke holes. She had been given the time to be subtle. They approached the leatherworker's, the counter manned by a young apprentice Astrid didn't recognise, and in moments Heather's unsettled hands were occupied with carrying a sturdy pair of shoes with a couple pairs of fresh socks wedged inside.

"Great! Bath house is a little ways up, you can get some clean clothes there too."

"You… don't need to pay for these?" Heather asked uncertainly.

"Huh? Pay? Oh right, some places do that. Nah, everyone just chips in and takes what they need. It's a lot easier this way, and everyone–… _nearly_ everyone learns pretty quickly that you don't live long without trust and consideration. 'A hungry neighbour can't protect your back.'"

A shadow flashed in the corner of her eye, and she abruptly remembered something she should probably explain sooner rather than later. "So, what's your attitude towards dragons?"

Heather blinked and gave her head a little shake, as if to clear it. "Dragons? My village got the odd raid, but we never kept much to attract them. Are they a problem here?"

"A problem? No," Astrid laughed. "You could say we've made our peace with them. Just don't freak out, okay?" She whistled, a short high note, not knowing why it would work but knowing it would, then grinned as two small curious faces peeked out from under a nearby wagon. "Heeey little guys, what'cha been up to today?" She beckoned, crouched low, and they approached cautiously with noses twitching.

Hiccup chirped and relaxed, his eyes dilating. Toothy inspected Heather a little closer, about a pace away, before relaxing himself. Good, that ruled out any hidden weapons, though the bath would have done that anyway. Astrid couldn't help slipping her fingers between Toothy's frills to give him a scratch, grinning at his little happy noises.

"W-w-what… are th-they…?" Heather stammered, taking small steps back.

"Dragons," Astrid supplied cheerfully. She turned back to watch for a reaction. "Night Furies."

Confusion and surprise crossed her face. Understandable. "Night Furies…?" She shakily knelt to the ground and inched forward, going still as Hiccup showed renewed interest in her. "They're so…"

"…Innocent? Sweet? _Adorable?_" Astrid offered, giving Toothy both her hands and melting as his purrs vibrated through her wrists.

"Small."

"…Huh. I guess, but they're still young. _Aren't you? Yesh you are, yesh you're adorwabwe._" Toothy crooned at her, then snapped his head away with a growl when Hiccup nipped his tail. He took off after him at a second challenge and they ran circles around the wide path, nipping and chasing each other.

"They're… certainly playful," Heather said, finding some of her composure.

"Yeah, Hiccup's always playful around new people." Astrid leaned in with a conspiratory whisper, "I think he likes to show off." Heather giggled. "Hey, maybe they can take a bath with us? They'll probably like warm water." Neither of them could help laughing – Heather a little nervously – as Hiccup tripped over his own feet and slid to a halt on his face. Credit to him, he just picked himself back up and resumed his chase with renewed vigour. "Oh relax Heather, I'm joking," she teased, though didn't totally discount the idea for herself. She was curious, it might be fun.

Though, Heather seemed to be taking it all pretty well. She was watching them attentively, but didn't seem overly frightened. Huh. How do people normally react to this stuff? Johann had apparently not fared well, but he'd previously had some bad experiences. It sounded like wherever Heather was from wasn't troubled all that much by dragons, maybe this was normal. They didn't really have a lot to go on.

"We should get a move on though. I've got a few friends who'll want to meet you and then we won't get _anywhere_."

* * *

Dreamer watched the newcomer depart with his eyes narrowed at her back. Astrid had called her Heather, definitely not a Hooligan name, and he would remember a girl his age with long dark hair.

_So why did she seem familiar?_

He couldn't place her, but something about her was tugging at his mind, some memory that refused to surface. For that matter, where had she even come from? And now, of all times? He growled frustratedly at the questions he had no means to get answers to, other than hope Fishlegs would know.

Wanderer gave him an enquiring warble behind him. "Hurt?"

Dreamer was yanked from his thoughts by a lick across where he'd been nipped earlier on his tail fin, a jolt of sensation that lanced up his tail and made him jump with a small yip. He glared back with a huff at Wanderer, who just looked pleased with himself. "No. That Long-Paw strange, like I see her before, but she not from nest."

"I not know her. Maybe when you Long-Paw?"

"Maybe…" Dreamer shook his head. "It not matter. Maybe I remember later. We go find Fish-Legs."

He was not difficult to locate, Meatlug's wingbeats could be heard from across the village as she made trips up and down the cliffs to what used to be the docks. They waited for them to haul up their load of various loot – cloths, weapons, and scrap iron mostly – collected in a salvaged sail hanging from Meatlug's claws. It lowered to the ground and spilled its contents, quickly set on by a dozen villagers to sort through.

"Tell him about new female if he do good," Dreamer suggested, and Wanderer shook an _affirmative_ as he took the lead. They had agreed a couple of weeks ago, after the incriminating book had been destroyed, that Wanderer would handle most of the talking now. On top of appearances it would also be better for Fishlegs to have no way to cheat the communication, and truthfully it was a relief for Dreamer to not _need_ to deal with him.

This time there didn't seem to be any real communication issues, and by Fishlegs' expression he got the bonus. Dreamer grinned, knowing he'd blurt out something about the Furies telling him which would both improve Heather's opinion of dragons and give Fishlegs a good first impression.

"We look for Long-Paw claws in grass," Wanderer said as he trotted back, and Dreamer's grin turned into a grimace. Arrowheads, weapon shards and discarded daggers would pose a risk to foot and hoof, but it would mean sniffing out iron through the stench of day-old blood. He sighed, supposing there was no reason he should be spared the gruesome jobs, and they were a perfect fit for it. Didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

The smell, he mused to himself as he crossed the sloped field for the fifth time, was not the worst part. He pulled his paw free of the ground with a wet squelch and a scowl, feeling the muck ooze between his claws. At least it was just an uncommitted dark colour that he generally associated with brown, and not the dark red he knew it must be. He could pretend. The whole field smelled of blood, but it was simple enough to pick out other smells so he could avoid stepping in… anything worse, so there was also that.

He felt out the edges of the puddle and skirted around it to the hard metallic smell on the other side, an arrowhead lodged into the ground and snapped off. He tried not to wonder if it was responsible for the wet patch. He easily dug it from the hard ground with his claws – noting they were getting a bit long – and half-hopped-half-flapped up to the small pile that was accruing at the top of the field.

Not for the first time, he had to stop himself from automatically trying to clean his paws. He had no desire to _ever_ know that taste, and he had to admit to himself that part of it was a fear he _wouldn't_ find it revolting, just like the smell. Anyway, he was only going back out there, there was no point in cleaning them now. Gliding back down to where he'd left off, he resumed the search.

Something sharp jabbed into the soft pad of his paw, causing him to flinch back, and he teased a shard of wood out of the hard ground. Probably a piece of shield, the splinters would soften and rot before long. He lay it down flat and continued on, nose twitching.

Was it some instinct he no longer possessed that made gore revolting? Or was he just used to blood from having eaten so much raw meat? Though there were the other smells as well, just as unpleasant, and that wasn't triggering a reaction either. It still stank, but he could ignore it. Maybe tolerance just came with a sensitive nose.

He had to chuckle at how ridiculous he was being, practically chastising himself for not throwing up at the scene. Every Viking on Berk was probably wishing for exactly what he had. Hmm, did that mean he didn't have to feel guilty about it?

_Guilty_. The realisation slammed into him like a physical force, pressing the air from his chest and halting his advance. That was what he felt, that was all he'd felt since his 'rude awakening' with Fishlegs, but why? _Because he was_ _actually enjoying being a dragon_. He _didn't_ want his miserable human life back, but Fishlegs expected him to and he felt he needed to meet that expectation. The same thing he'd done all his human life.

He gave his wings a single, defiant shake. Well, he _liked_ being a dragon, and he would _continue_ liking it. Being free of expectations, that all he needed to survive was his own body, the ability to _fly_.

The anxiety welled in his chest at the declaration, but he growled at it. Now that he knew what he was up against, could recognise it for what it was, he could fight back and separate it from himself. Maybe some part of him already realised this, and he thought proudly back to his little joke on Fishlegs earlier that morning.

A myriad of wild and occasionally macabre ideas flew through his head, taking his declaration of freedom and running with it, but he stamped them out; he wasn't _abandoning_ his humanity. He only pondered on taking advantage of his anonymity and joining the girls in a bath like Astrid had suggested, but more than anything he only held intellectual curiosity of what he might one day have had.

…Wait… Did that make it okay?

…

He was too sleep-deprived to be thinking about his moral compass today. He shook his head and resumed his search.

A pawful of slender fragments of something that had shattered were the last things he found before meeting Wanderer in the middle, the pile of dirty iron and steel about big enough to fill a bucket. Dreamer shuddered to think about children playing there, rolling on the grass, sheep munching away unawares. He wasn't even confident enough to say it was safe, but it was certainly saf_er_.

They did a quick loop of the field just to be sure, finding nothing, and returned to the dry ground at the foot of the village.

Wanderer, frills stiff against his neck, tried to wipe his paws on the grass as Dreamer was doing. Neither of them had any success. "We fly to old den? Swim? We small fledglings, need much rest," Dreamer offered impishly, and his friend perked up and gave an approving croon.

They didn't bother going back to Fishlegs to report, just leapt into the air and soared over to the cove. There were no games on the way, no distractions, they were both just looking forward to being clean and wasted no time in diving straight into the cold lake, involuntarily sucking in a breath and flattening their ears as the water rushed up to meet them.

Dreamer's insulated hide masked the expected shock from the change in temperature, though the pads of his paws, fins, and wing-membranes ached from it. For a moment he just let himself hang still in the water, listening to the muffled world and the hum of his own pulse, but then the air in his lungs floated him back to the surface.

Wanderer was nowhere to be seen, so he refreshed his breath and dove again, tucking his wings and legs in tightly and weaving up and down to propel himself. The water glided over his smooth scales, there was a little tug on the folds of his wings but his flared tail fins gave him more than enough power to surge forward. It wasn't something they did often, at least since nesting in the village, but the motions still came naturally.

He noticed a cloud of sediment rising from the bottom to be slowly carried away by the faint current, and Wanderer shot out of it before he had time to worry. In a moment he was back at the bottom of the lake, kicking up another murky cloud.

Peculiar. Dreamer settled on idling around while picking at the muck on his paws, meticulously working between his claws and where they met his scales. It was softer in the water and came away easily, though he vividly remembered the feel of it. Maybe Wanderer was onto something. He swam down and dug his claws into the bottom, feeling the sandy mud scour them clean. Frills perking up – his ears remained flat to keep the water out – he kicked up his own murky cloud rubbing his paws, and then the rest of him, against the lakebed.

Lungs finally starting to ache for air, he gave himself a shake to free any loose dirt and then rocketed up to the surface. He tried to clear it, but couldn't quite get his waterlogged wings out in time and dropped back into the water.

Wanderer surfaced a moment later, gasping and heaving for breath as he floated. Silly dragon was still testing the limits of how long he could stay under. Dreamer idly cruised circles around him until the panting slowed, then surged under the surface. He wrapped his forelegs around Wanderer's hindquarters and gave a great push with his tail, dragging them both down into the lake.

He quickly let go and kicked off, delighting again in feeling the water glide over his body. A glance back showed Wanderer in pursuit, eyes focused. With a twist and a firm push of his tail, Dreamer spun around and streaked underneath him, silently giggling as the grapple slid easily off his flanks.

Dreamer freely admit he was proud of his speed and nimbleness, he felt it suited him better given his human body had also been thin and wiry. Maybe if someone had have helped him, worked on his strengths instead of trying to hammer out his weaknesses, he would have found something that worked for him. Maybe one day he would have worked out who he was on his own.

Well, it was all senseless to ponder now, and only served to set a scowl on his face. Lungs crying for air again, he launched himself back at the surface and managed a flap for a little height, but his wingtips slapped the surface of the water and pulled him back down.

Before he could dive down again, Wanderer surfaced a body-length away. He too launched himself from the water, throwing out his wings and shedding a spray in a great arc around him. A second layer of spray flew out as his wings pushed down, lifting him clear of the water and into a hover.

Dreamer gaped, even despite the smirk he got back. Tiny droplets pittered down around them, and the water streaming down Wanderer's gleaming scales and trickling off his dangling tail gave him an almost ethereal quality. Dreamer shook himself and set his jaw, then ducked under and pushed his way back down to the lakebed.

He'd seen part of the trick – Wanderer was big on teaching by example with little explanation, much like Gobber come to think of it – and as he surged up he pushed his furled wings forwards. It created a little more drag but he fought through it, and gave his tail a final heave to push him from the water.

His wing-elbows straightened as they hit air, stretching his leathery appendages out slightly quicker than before. This time when he flapped down, it was enough to push him completely clear of the water and allow him a second flap, a third, a fourth – an easy hover. _YES!_

Wanderer's eyes were wide, his frills and ears standing out in _awe_. With a pang, Dreamer realised this was probably the first time he'd ever seen another manage it, at least for a very long time. He'd been alone in the nest. _Alone_.

With a warble, he glided over to the dry bank where he dropped down and shook off the excess water, Wanderer doing the same next to him.

"Dreamer, you good?" came a tentative enquiry.

"That… hard explain. But yes. Why?"

"You look… _angry_." Dreamer was a little startled by the word, and took him a moment to even realise it _was_ a word and not Wanderer just baring his teeth and looking, well, angry.

He considered the observation while the gentle breeze slowly dried his scales. "…Yes. I angry at me. I think something this light, now know why I feel bad…" Wanderer encouraged him on with a slight forward nod. "It because I… sorry for want be Nightstriker." Expressions flashed over his friend before he could elaborate; surprise, hurt, sadness, but then thinking and confusion. "I _want_ be Nightstriker, but know Long-Paws want me be Long-Paw. I angry for let that make me feel bad." He scowled internally at the mincing of words, but it should have got his point across.

"Angry not good also… but better than sorry. You still have much bad Long-Paw thinking. One night we leave this nest, live a sky-ice-cycle like Nightstrikers. Maybe that help you think good."

Dreamer perked up. "We can go to your old nest? I think that before. Want know about…" he scowled at the lack of word for 'dragon', "…scale-wing-hunters." Close enough for now. Maybe he should invent a word for them.

Wanderer's ears went up. "You want see my old nest?" Dreamer chuffed an _affirmative_. "…You need know how fight, for nest there."

_Oh_… He knew it was something he _should_ learn, but felt horrible about it. He enjoyed their tussles, but the moment the fight started even looking serious his stomach turned and just wanted it over. He hadn't even realised he was doing it until Wanderer had told him he needed to learn.

"I… I try. Not yet, but I try, if you teach me." It was only a precaution anyway, right? Not like they'd have to fight their way into the nest, he wouldn't really want to live there for any length of time if that was the case.

"We still fledglings, need grow. But should start soon."

"Yes…" First, he needed to stop feeling sorry for himself about everything. _And on that wind…_ He sized up Wanderer, reading his stance, his position, how those big green eyes narrowed in suspicion. Dreamer didn't give him a chance to think, darting to the side and lunging.

The Nightstriker was just fast enough to leap out of the way, but Dreamer bounded off the ground and latched onto his soggy hindquarters, dragging him down. He pulled forward to touch his teeth to his friend's neck, and had to feel proud with his fastest win ever. Even if Wanderer wasn't trying, he could take the achievement.

And it was an important win. He had two forces at war inside him, and he needed to show himself which side he was on. Clamping down on his stupid guilt of enjoying his new life, he began to address the much more deserved guilt of neglecting his friend by running his tongue between the wings pinned beneath him.

It was… more difficult than he'd thought it would be. He couldn't just let himself do it like with hunting, but his anxiety gradually became less crippling as he lost himself in the task. Particularly with the meticulous little bits, delicately working his claws and tongue around Wanderer's wing joints, around his back spines, and gently between his frills. Being dead tired helped somewhat as well. He ignored the baseless paranoia that someone was watching and judging, given the only one who even could judge him was Fishlegs and Dreamer didn't really care for his opinion right now.

He wheezed – barely preventing it from becoming a whine – when he rolled Wanderer over. The scales were dull and the leather between them flaking, triggering recollections of their talk on the beach of the volcano nest. Dreamer was the _only one_ he would allow near his throat, the most vulnerable part of him but also the most difficult to reach or see. Had it even been this bad before the fight with the queen? He couldn't remember, at the time he'd possessed very different vision and hadn't known what to look for.

It turned the internal conflict in a wild direction. The guilt of neglect flared dramatically, but there was a measure of pride and elation at being the only one trusted this much by someone. Especially by such a creature as a Night F–… a _Nightstriker_.

He carried on until his aching mouth could do no more, and stepped back to clean his own face. There were a lot of fiddly little nooks to reach, too many to do in a single sitting, but that was fine. Dreamer promised himself this would become a more regular thing again.

Wanderer was a _lot_ more relaxed, and only now did Dreamer see how tense he'd been. It was understandable, the battle had been stressful for everyone, and he himself had been a source of stress for the poor dragon as well. It was good he was able to do this now, and it should only get easier if previous experience was anything to go by. He _would_ find his balance again.

For now… he felt tired enough to fall asleep on his paws. Without the hype of his inner conflict, his eyes kept trying to drift shut and he was finding it difficult to remain steady. _Yeah, I think I'm tired enough not to care_… He nudged his way in between the bigger dragon's outstretched paws, nuzzling into his warm chest. As a black wing absently draped over him a lazy thought drifted through his mind, another piece of the puzzle – he was back in his safe place. And with that, he realised Wanderer was back in his safe place too. He clung to the thought, even allowing a gentle and happy whine as he snuggled in closer, protected from all the bad thoughts by the warm embrace and lulled to sleep by the familiar purr.

* * *

"So she can talk as well?" The question was asked with an enthusiasm Fishlegs was not accustomed to outside of his own family, and even more unusual given the subject.

He was more than happy to oblige such a healthy thirst for knowledge. "Of course! But not nearly as well or as much as the Furies. Or quite as much as the Nadders. Huh, you know I'm not actually sure about Hookfang… He might just be grumpy."

It was a lovely day, the sun shining through a light misting of rain that helped to dampen the stench of the days-old battle, though what they really needed was a torrential downpour. Hopefully this summer wouldn't be as dry as last year.

Heather ducked her way around Meatlug, offering scratches and strokes while she appreciated the finer advantages of a Gronckle. "Her skin is so hard… almost like rocks. It feels like it would deflect arrows."

"Yeah, except for her underside. Gronckles were a real problem in raids. It's also really hard to tie their wings up with a bola, takes a lot of practice and luck to hit the right spot. And she's _super_ strong, the strongest lifting power of any dragon, plus endurance is off the scale."

"Wow," she whispered airily. "And she can _talk?_"

"Perhaps I should demonstrate," Fishlegs said primly, drawing himself up. _You, good, question_, he asked. The motions were simple, and the word for 'good' was a high hum that tailed up at the end, nothing too embarrassing with Heather's big green eyes on him.

_Yes. Belly, hurt, small,_ she replied.

"Aww, got a bit of a belly ache?" he asked aloud for Heather's sake while he rubbed her jaw. Wait… _You, eat, bad, rock, again, question_. Meatlug's expression was answer enough. "Meatlug, you _know_ the course granite from that beach gives you gas, why do you do this to yourself?" he chided light-heartedly.

Heather burst out laughing, a light chiming that seemed to sing to him. "You two are _adorable!_ But wow, that's incredible Fishlegs, who knew they were so intelligent?"

"Oh this is nothing, you should see the Furies, they're–" he abruptly cut himself off, remembering _exactly_ how intelligent the Furies were. Had he really forgotten for a moment? "…You know what? If you're staying then you should meet them properly and see for yourself. They're really friendly."

Astrid chose this moment to stretch noisily and butt in. "Maybe later. We should… probably get Snotlout out of the way. I don't want him cornering you while I'm not there. Oh don't worry he won't go too far, he's just… _yurgh_."

"I'm sure I'll be fine, thank you Astrid," Heather replied confidently.

As if saying his name summoned the draugr himself, Snotlout made a blustery landing on Hookfang next to the group. "Did I hear my name, my ears are burning, I knew you couldn't resist me for long, hey there." He leaned out a little, balancing precariously on the saddle with one of his dumb grins. "I'm Snotlout." It might have been more impressive timing if he didn't do it for almost every entrance where Astrid was involved.

"Snotlout, this is Heather. _Play nice,_" Astrid warned icily, but for once she went completely ignored.

"Hello Snotlout, it's nice to meet you. That's a very impressive dragon you're riding, a Monstrous Nightmare right?" As with Meatlug, Heather did not approach Hookfang, though a furtive glance across at her showed her soaking in the big dragon's features.

"Sure is, only the best, most powerful dragon on Berk. He single-handedly took out half the Berserker invaders you know, and he's _miiiine_." He jerked his thumbs towards himself, flashing his typical grin, so he was unprepared and fell out of the saddle when Hookfang jerked his head to side.

"You mean your dad harvested his spit without you knowing, and used _it_ to stave off the invasion," Astrid remarked flatly.

"That's still impressive," Heather said peaceably while Snotlout hurriedly brushed himself off, "without you and Hookfang here Berk wouldn't have stood a chance."

"Yeah, that's right…" Snotlout said as if he'd just realised it himself. "So anyway, I'm thinking you, me, candlelit dinner under the stars, tonight," he pranced towards Heather as he spoke, but she somehow slipped around him towards Hookfang.

"He's a very impressive dragon, may I…?"

Snotlout scowled at Hookfang. "Er, no, I wouldn't. He bites. A _lot_. Also sets everything on fire, _including himself_." Hookfang gave his rider an apathetic look, then prowled forward to put his head under Heather's hands with a contented hiss.

"Well I think he's _very_ friendly," she said as she rubbed his snout and cheeks, and Fishlegs thought he saw the dragon shoot Snotlout a smug smile. Yeah, Snotlout was fuming, definitely his dragon one-upping him again.

Snotlout tried to wedge himself between Heather and Hookfang, but she stepped further long to inspect the saddle while Hookfang put his neck between the two teens. Not put off, Snotlout leaned over the saddle. "My dad's kind of a big deal around here, I could get us some mead, the good stuff, so meet me at sunset at–"

"Oooh, sorry Snotlout," Heather cut him off with an apologetic grimace, "I've got to be in the kitchens serving dinner tonight. But if you feel up for it now, we could go for a quick flight…?"

"Up for it? Hah! I could fly all day." Hookfang huffed at him. "Alright, alright, _we_ could fly all day." He smoothly climbed into the saddle and helped Heather up, then – blissfully – his bragging faded into the distance and left a peaceful silence behind.

Fishlegs put his finger on what had been bugging him about the whole encounter. "Say Astrid, normally you don't need much of a reason to put Snotlout in his place. Why'd you let him walk all over Heather like that?"

"He didn't walk all over her," she replied, distracted.

"That doesn't answer the question."

She blinked and looked at him blankly for a few moments. "Well, if she's going to live here she needs to be able to handle herself. I just wanted to make sure she could do that." She resumed watching them drift lazily through the sky.

"Yeah, okay, that's fair enough. Yeesh, he's probably talking her ear off up there, but at least he can't try anything."

"I don't really think he would, not really."

"Still, better safe than sorry."

Astrid looked over her nose at him. "You seem pretty protective of her."

Feeling heat rise in his cheeks, Fishlegs fumbled out an answer. "Uh, well, um, yeah, she's smart, and, er, inquisitive, and she really likes dragons. She's nice."

"Hm."

* * *

Asger stroked his beard while he considered the boy stood before the Council. He wasn't overly fond of the mottled hair growing haphazardly through the scars on his face, but it was expected of him at his status of Elder. Few Berserkers lived long enough to claim the title, so those who did were considered exceptionally strong and wise, enough so that they weren't concerned about an opponent grabbing it in a fight.

"_I don't care_ what you say! I'm going back there, and I'm _razing it to the ground!_" Dagur spat. The rage on his face was clear even in the low light from two fires crackling at either side of the room that cast eerie shadows over him.

"You and what army?" one of the woman elders intoned callously. "Half our fighters went on the last raid, and well under half of those came back. Would you take every man next time? And what if _none_ of them come back?"

"Berk got lucky. It _won't_ happen again," the boy growled.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," came a haughty male voice with inflections placing him from one of the northern villages. "Berk is a stronghold, and they were prepared. You were outclassed."

Asger was bored of this already. "This is pointless. The losses we have suffered already outweigh any reward Berk could possibly offer, _including_ your Night Furies. On top of losing most of your army, your opponent knocked you out." A murmur of agreement met the damning statement, there was no dishonour in dying to a worthy opponent but there had to be a significant difference in ability to be knocked out when going for the kill. "You'll not have my support."

A wave of agreement swept the dim room, and Asger wondered if Dagur was capable of physically exploding. "_I put this tribe back together!_" he screeched. "You would still be pathetic remnants of a once-great people scattered over this stupid island if it wasn't for me!"

"Yes, Dagur, and we have not forgotten that," the first woman chimed in icily, "why do you think we supported you in the first place for little more than glory? What you do with your guard is up to you, but you'll not have an army"

Dagur was suddenly no longer listening, repeating something under his breath. "What am I _doing?_" he asked suddenly, uncharacteristically lucid but apparently not talking to anyone in particular. "I'll return us to our _former glory_, and I'll do it _by myself_. I see now I have to do EVERYTHING myself." Grumbling under his breath again, he turned and stalked towards the door.

"Remember your duties," another woman called after him. "As Chief you must remain here at least two weeks in any eight. I advise spending the time to _plan_ your next venture, whatever crazy idea you've got in your head."

"Fine," he growled before disappearing outside.

* * *

Wanderer woke to a restless Dreamer twitching and fidgeting against him, tucked tightly together as they were for warmth as the angry sky outside their den thundered and deluged. There were even a few chunks of ice smashing against the ground and throwing occasional fragments into the den.

He gave a quiet sympathetic sigh, then gently licked Dreamer across the ear. The sensation was pleasant enough but the amplified squelching noise that accompanied it jolted Dreamer awake.

"…I wish you not do that…" the little Nightstriker mumbled, readjusting himself more consciously to huddle in closer.

"I stop when you sleep good," Wanderer replied, nuzzling in between Dreamer's top frills to savour his crisp scent in the clean air.

_Huff_. "I not can fix that."

"Tell me."

A long sigh blew warmly down Wanderer's front. "I dream Long-Paws die. Like in fight. But I happy, I…" He whined as the sky gave a low rumble. "I do bad." Not really sure what to say, Wanderer just gave a comforting and sympathetic croon, tightening his embrace a little. "I wake, I… not feel bad. Many Long-Paws die in fight, I feel… nothing. I not can think, not can…" A low growl was soaked up by all the water outside. "I not know words."

"I know what mean," Wanderer comforted him. "You have much bad Long-Paw thinking. Yes, nest-kin die, bad, but you say they in good place now, not should feel bad. But that not why you not feel bad." He poked the top of Dreamer's head with a claw. "You have fledgling mind. Still need much growing." He was only going off vague half-explanations he'd barely paid attention to, but the more he spoke the more it made sense. "Thinking some things, hard, mind not big enough for thinking big things. Still have memories, know die is bad, but not can understand."

Dreamer groaned. "That good if know sooner…"

"I sorry… This strange. You fledgling but not. I not know what I should tell you." Wanderer nuzzled him, delighting in the soft frills brushing over his face, and purred _sleep_. Before long Dreamer's breathing evened out and slowed, but Wanderer found he wasn't tired. Instead he just listened to the rain and the rolling growls of the storm, and basked in the presence of another Nightstriker. It was still novel, even after a whole cycle.

The circumstances were unusual, perhaps, but it was like a dream. He ached with the happiness of companionship, even more in knowing the connection he had with Dreamer went deeper than his species. And then, impossibly, he became a Nightstriker anyway.

Wanderer didn't sleep, just dozed so that he could enjoy the warmth he was wrapped around and the deafening white noise of the rain.

The storm had calmed to a steady shower when Dreamer roused again, dragging his head onto Wanderer's shoulder to blearily stare outside. "…Wrr, no bad smells now, that good. But… rain," he mumbled

"Much rain on these small-lands. We can fly in that," Wanderer warbled. Now that they were both awake he was impatient to do something, so he pulled himself to his paws and stretched to get his blood moving. Dreamer still hadn't moved, so he brushed his tailfins over the Nightstriker's nose; when that was hidden, then under his ears.

"_Yes_, I awake," Dreamer eventually growled, rolling onto his back to bat at the pestering tail. When he didn't progress from there Wanderer slapped him on the belly with it, eliciting a whiny wheeze and a retaliatory pounce. He let himself zone out for the fight, wondering what they were going to do for the day – certainly not much flying in _that_ weather – and came back to his senses when a needling pain flared in his neck. Hrrr, he might need to start paying a little more attention, he was losing a lot lately. Maybe Dreamer was taking his learning to fight a little more seriously after all.

It would be ideal if Dreamer came forward with that suggestion, it was a great activity to do in the den, but Wanderer wasn't going to nag. Otherwise they usually just taught Fish-Legs how to talk properly, and played and ate in the big rock-den. Maybe they could go hunting later, the rain was less bothersome on the ground and under the broad leaves.

Definitely to the rock-den first, his stomach was clawing at him in anticipation. For whatever reason, the Long-Paws were more likely to feed them good things when it was raining. Sometimes even eggs. His mouth watered.

He pranced around while Dreamer stretched again, then they were flapping into the air. The very wet and cold air. He scowled while his wings warmed up, with all the extra flapping needed in the rain it didn't take long but then they were already swooping down to duck into the big den-mouth.

Smoke assaulted his nose, in stark contrast to the pristine air outside, and he could almost feel it sticking to his wet scales. Still, the big fire was appreciated, and the pair darted through the thin tree-legs and hopped up to the stone rim around the hot embers glowing in the shallow hole. Wanderer was tempted to roll in them, but he couldn't be bothered with the ash that would stick to him. Maybe another night, when he wasn't wet.

Dreamer spotted his old nest-friends sat together and bounded over to hop onto the flat-tree-thing. Wanderer rolled his eyes and looked for where the food came from, spotting one of the Long-Paws who had recently given them much. He hopped over to her, wary of the Long-Paws around him, then stood on his hind-paws and tail to look up at her expectantly.

She cooed and chattered at him as she dropped the lumps of bland-smelling not-foods onto the raised surface with other foods and not-foods, then disappeared back into the place with the loud noises. While he waited for her to return, hopefully with something edible, Wanderer sniffed at the raised surface. He could smell hot meats and eggs, as well as a _very_ strong and sharp fatty smell that he was achingly curious about.

With a furtive glance around he followed his nose to the smell, walking alongside the raised surface. He knew better than to put his paws on it – the Long-Paws all made a horrible fuss when he did that – but he stood up again to look over the edge and try to work out which of the strange things was the smell. It had that old wet scent but not quite unpleasantly so, and was otherwise a pungent sharp fatty smell. Fat didn't normally smell sharp… It was very strange.

He strained to put his nose closer to the things laid out on the surface without touching anything, and even still a Long-Paw sat nearby growled his name in a low warning with a hint of amusement. "I just _looking_," he grumbled back, knowing the Long-Paw wouldn't understand, though there was a _resigned, amused_ laugh in response.

It was tempting to snatch it up and run off with it, but outside was too wet to seriously consider doing. He was _pretty_ sure it was the pale lump anyway, rather than the tree-things that prey-things ate or the spongy not-food that only Long-Paws ate.

The female Long-Paw called his name with _amused, warning_, and beckoned him to follow. He darted around the legs stomping about, keeping his distance from them, and followed to where Dreamer and his nest-friends sat. There she set down the flat-thing she was carrying, some meats laid out across it that didn't smell all that fresh but were nice and hot. A bit of a waste of time and energy in Wanderer's opinion, but it was pleasant.

He noticed the new young Long-Paw had joined them, with the long dark head-fur and the strange eyes that were both hunter and hunted. She was confusing, or maybe just confused. Wanderer didn't like the way she looked at him, whatever the story, and kept her in his sight.

Successfully having crunched up a thick bone, he was licking out the marrow when his ears picked out an approaching Long-Paw. He recognised her footsteps without looking, the one who had brought the food out, but what was she doing back? He swivelled around, wondering if she'd brought more food – and caught a whiff of that bizarre sharp fatty maybe-food again. He warbled curiously and stalked the edge of the flat-tree-thing impatiently while she spoke to Dreamer's nest-friends.

Dreamer's twitching nose drifted forward as well. "What that smell?" Wanderer asked him.

"Hrrmm, it made from not-water land-prey make, like eggs but not. I not know how make, but it good," he replied.

"I not can tell if smell good or not," Wanderer admitted as he backed up to allow the Long-Paw to place a few small lumps of the pale stuff onto the flat-thing. His nose was over it the moment her paw pulled back, but he still couldn't decide if it was rotten or not. He made to lick some up, but the moment his tongue touched it he jumped back and his face scrunched itself up.

The tense quiet around him erupted into Long-Paw laughs, making Wanderer jump again and momentarily forget the taste in his mouth while he pouted at them, but then it drifted back, as sharp and pungent as its smell. Fat should _not_ be a sharp flavour, he decided, but as the taste smoothed over he found it not quite so unpleasant.

He licked his chops and put his nose back to it, finding the smell bordering more on edible this time, and took a more cautious sample. His face still scrunched a little, triggering another wave of Long-Paw amusement, but it was palatable.

Dreamer crept forward for his own tentative sample, pulling a funny face with his tongue hanging out before rigorously shaking his head. The laughing Long-Paws, precariously balanced as they always were, seemed even more likely to topple over with how they were swaying around, but somehow they remained seated.

Wanderer decided he liked the strange food… in small amounts; memories from the aftermath of whatever Boundless had left for them that one night had made him more cautious of strange Long-Paw foods.

What he still couldn't decide on, however, was this new Long-Paw. She couldn't seem to decide if she liked the Nightstrikers or not, wanted to hurt them or not, even now as she laughed there were hints of strange expressions on her features. And if she could not tell, then how could Wanderer? He was torn between avoiding her outright and trying to discern her motives.

_Just survive the cold-season_… He would keep an eye on her. Nothing more.


	12. Haunted

"I like her," Astrid said quietly as she sliced apart an imaginary opponent with her axe, still more than a little irked by the minute imbalance it held after its last repair. "She's smart, diplomatic, and has her head screwed on. Teach her to fight and she'll make a top shieldmaiden."

"You might have to fight off us Ingermans," Fishlegs replied airily. "On top of all that, she's curious and inquisitive. And her touch is so delicate."

It had taken several days, but an opportunity to properly introduce Heather to the Furies had finally presented itself when they'd flown down while she accompanied the riders on some routine training in the ring, though Snotlout had promptly excused himself with a mumble at Fishlegs. Astrid was hoping to get the girl her own dragon, their squad of riders felt a bit small for some reason but it would be _weird_ to bring in anyone older or younger.

As Fishlegs had said, the girl was very delicate in admiring Hiccup's wings which were proudly stretched out for her. Definitely a little show-off. Curiously, Toothy didn't appear remotely interested in her and was occupying himself with chewing an old bone.

"Hey Tuff, have you noticed Hiccup likes to show off to new people?" Astrid asked.

"Heh, yeah, he's a character. He used to do that with the kids too, before… you know, whatever happened with him. Oh shoot, I promised to set up some more dragon play groups, Kaernut is going to have my _ears_ for taking this long. And I need them. To _hear_ things… Hey, I wonder if he'd be able to take the smaller kids flying yet?"

Ruffnut punched him. "You _idiot_, they'd never be able to hold on."

"Oh yeah? They could–"

Astrid tuned out their argument and approached Heather, dropping down to sit beside her. "So what do you think now?" she asked teasingly as Toothy positioned himself a little closer and accepted head scratches with a mild purr. When did they get so _big?_ Toothy was about the size of a small wolf, Hiccup about a head shorter. She remembered how tiny he'd looked in Stoick's hands on that first night, and honestly couldn't remember him being anything between the size he was then and the size he was now.

"They're… amazing. So strong and powerful, so… completely free…" The last part was said quietly, almost a whisper, and she rested her hand on Hiccup's head which was tilted at her.

Astrid snatched the opportunity. "What were they like? The Berserkers?"

A wry tone entered her voice. "Brutal, horrible people. At least they basically left me alone, just threw me in with the supplies."

"They didn't…?"

Heather was silent for a moment, but then shook her head, the motion tugging her braid from her shoulder. That was some small relief, at least. "I'm sorry, but I don't really want to talk about it."

"…I lost my mother to them in the battle."

Heather went stiff, then bowed her head. "You have my sympathies."

"She saved my dad when a mace broke his shield and arm, but was cut down immediately after. She's in Valhalla now, with the rest of our family, and I'm happy for her… but… I still miss her."

Hiccup gave a low warble, glancing between the two girls, then Toothy spoke up as well and they chattered between themselves. "Wow, I see what Fishlegs meant about them. They really look like they're talking," Heather remarked. "What about you, little guy? Where are your parents…?"

…That was a _very_ good question, and Astrid silently berated herself for not thinking of it sooner. She twisted to look behind her. "Fishlegs? Care to–" She cut off as she saw him, narrowing her eyes. Fishlegs was rigid and white, staring at her like he'd been caught with an armful of sweetrolls. "…Spill it."

"I-it's… c-complicated," he stammered.

"_Try._" She noticed the Furies had tensed too, probably sensing the mood, so she took some of the venom out of her voice. "We have people out there, hunters, farmers, _families_, we might be friendly with dragons but having a Night Fury on the island is _dangerous_. We _need_ to know."

"Er… that… p-private th-thing I mentioned awhile a-ago? I can't." He suddenly relaxed with a sigh and stopped shaking, looking down at the ground and mumbling something under his breath she couldn't quite catch. "If that's what you're worried about, no, there are no adult Night Furies here."

Astrid's eyebrows went up. "Not even Toothless?"

He met her gaze. "…Not even a crippled, flightless Night Fury."

_Rats_, that raised more questions than it answered. The last answer in particular was strangely worded, he definitely knew more and it would be easy to twist him into telling her… but it would ruin their friendship, and as they were the only two _sensible_ dragon riders in the Archipelago she couldn't afford to do that.

"Woah, this is tense," Ruffnut said mildly. "You guys gonna make out now or what?"

"_Ruffnut!_" Astrid barked indignantly as the girl cackled mischievously, though it at least had broken the mood. Heather had broken into fits of giggles while Fishlegs brokenly stammered out reasons they weren't compatible.

"Anyway, what's it matter?" Tuffnut drawled as he stepped forward and picked up Toothy under the forelegs. He had to strain a little, from nose to tail the dragon was longer than he was tall. "You're here, who cares how?" Toothy happily licked him up the face in reply. _Yeck_, how can he stand that? Gross.

"You guys all get along so well!" Heather exclaimed. "But what's this about… 'Toothless'? Was he really old or something?"

Now Astrid was laughing too. "Not quite. You'll want to ask a Skald to recount Hiccup's Saga for you, it's kind of a long story."

The girl gave a broad smile. "Alright then, I will."

* * *

"TAKE THIS!"

Jumping back from the dagger thrust at her, Vella put her hand to her sword and eyed the blade warily. Apologies and excuses were ready on her tongue, but she held them at seeing Dagur's confused expression.

"What are you _doing?_ I SAID to take– oh, wait, hang on." He flipped the knife so that he was offering her the hilt instead of the point. "You'd think I'd remember after the third or fourth time HAHA."

She relaxed and tentatively took the weapon, unexpectedly heavy in her hand. The whole thing was solid steel, not even a wrap around the hilt, and very blunt. "What…?"

"Just keep it on you, those stupid elders won't let me leave for a couple more weeks. Any more challengers? Make sure my ship is ready to go."

Having been with the boy since near the beginning, Vella was used to this sort of disjointed conversation. Granted, being gifted a blunt dagger was new, but she wouldn't argue. There was always method to his apparent madness. "Yes, my Chief. And no, there are no further challengers." There had been an onslaught of them after the miserable failure of a raid on Berk, but in typical Dagur style he knocked every single opponent unconscious without a drop of blood drawn on either side. Funnily enough, his shame had been quickly forgotten.

Dagur gave an exasperated growl. "But that just means there's NOTHING to DO! WHAT is the point in holding me here if there's NOBODY I need to KILL?"

"You're the Chief, why don't you just go anyw–" Vella had sighed as the burly escort started talking, not bothering to watch but still hearing Dagur's sword sliding back into its sheath before the man's body hit the ground; they really needed to stop sending males, handling Dagur the Deranged required a more subtle touch. Though, there was a rumour going around the women's district that some of the tribes were offering their fools and more unsavoury characters just to get rid of them. Perhaps the rumour held merit.

The Chief just kept walking as if he'd done no more than swat a fly. "Is there _anything_ that needs my attention?"

As long as it wasn't anything even remotely treasonous, Vella figured she was safe enough to suggest something. "You could work on an heir. Or several. Many of the–"

"Ugghhh, how many TIMES do I have to SAY I don't CARE about that? Let the strongest rule. _That_ is the Berserker way."

"…Very well Chief. If you're looking to burn off some Bloodlust you could check with the loggers, no doubt they are struggling for manpower."

She kept a straight face as he rounded on her. It was difficult, even though he was a palm shorter than her. "THAT is a BORING idea Vella, ooh but logging will be good for my babies…" He giggled while he flexed and squeezed his arms.

Dagur was not a difficult man to understand, once one understood. Vella was incredulous nobody else had worked it out by now, aside from the elders, but then again most just assumed him insane. Well, his secret was safe with her, and she would do her best to ensure nobody could take advantage of it.

* * *

The knock at the door was firm but moderate, and Stoick opened it unhurriedly to let the summer twilight spill into the house. "Ah, Astrid. Come in," he greeted her. "How is our new guest settling?" He closed the door and gestured her to a seat at the table.

"Good, she doesn't have much in the way of cooking skills but seems willing to learn. She's taking her responsibilities seriously too. She's actually why I'm here, I'm… ready to give my report."

"Aye, I thought as much. Let's have it then." He took a moment to pour them both a cup of water, and she gratefully took a gulp.

Taking a deep breath to collect her thoughts, Astrid took care in the words she spoke. She was learning fast, in a few years she'd be able to verbally manoeuvre while seeming bored or impatient. "For her personality, she doesn't appear it on the surface but she's a very grounded person. I hate to admit, she probably handles Snotlout better than I do." Stoick's eyebrows went up at that. "She was initially wary about the dragons, understandably, but adapted and embraced them quickly. Maybe a little _too_ quickly, but she said her village didn't see many raids and we don't exactly have much to compare her to. I suppose she was no quicker than us last year.

"For her story, she's very guarded about it. The Berserker fleet encountered her parents' fishing boat and picked it up on the way to us, taking her and the haul. Threw her in with the supplies and left her alone. I guess they were… saving her until after." She shuddered at the thought. "But I'm not sure that sits right with me. Why bring their own spoils to the raid?"

"That was our thought too. The stories match, but she told neither of us more than the other." He let out a long sigh and rubbed his head, knocking his helmet askew. "That in itself is not a good sign. But what harm could she possibly do? As I understand it, there's no secret to training the dragons, just give them reason to stay. I'd happily share that knowledge if any would listen.

"It's not the Berserker way to sabotage. A spy for another tribe, perhaps, to gauge our forces and how we're using the dragons? Again, let her take that information. What are we _missing_ Astrid?"

"Hmm, unless she's here to try to steal a dragon… but they're loyal to us, they won't go far with her. Though if we were to give her a dragon of her own…"

"…The obvious course of action, given how well you all get along." He blew out his cheeks. "You're right, there's no telling what she could do then. She could give us a _very_ bad reputation… So we don't give her one. If she gets pushy, we'll know." He nodded, then straightened his helmet before it could fall off. "We'll continue keeping an eye on her, but no more than we do any new tribesman. Thank you, Astrid. Get some rest."

"…You too, sir." He shot her a chastening smile at the cheeky remark as she skipped from the house.

After she was gone, he slumped into his chair. Why had that been so easy? Did he just get on better with Astrid, or had he himself changed since the loss of his son? A bit of both? He thought of Hiccup, of his wild and crazy ideas. None as crazy as _freeing_ the cursed Night Fury, but look how all that had turned out.

Perhaps the world just hadn't been ready for him. Stoick certainly hadn't been. Hopefully he could reach his potential in Valhalla, or whatever paradise heroes of such nature were sent to…

* * *

Desperate waves of cackling brought surges of happiness to Dreamer as he snuffled the child's neck and ear. He smelled so pure and innocent, a perfect little person before the world could have a chance at corrupting him. He purred loudly at the rough petting, knowing this child would grow up free of fear and animosity towards dragons.

The petting crossed the line to hitting; _maybe not quite so innocent then_. He let out a squeak at the impact and stalked away, pointedly depriving the child of further attention. It was the best way to deal with kids so young, especially with how much they revered the dragons' company. _Huh_… These kids were technically twice as old as the Nightstrikers, but were just barely comfortable on their own feet. Humans grew so _slowly_.

He joined Wanderer in chasing a pair of boys, one very confident in running and the other wildly flailing after them. Prancing and bounding around them, Dreamer flared his wings up and waved them in the air, and suddenly all three kids were running around with their arms up playing dragon.

Had children always been this adorable? He couldn't remember.

The clumsy child tripped and fell, then pulled himself to his knees with an uncertain cry. Dreamer got there first, only hesitating a moment before licking his cheek. The child instantly calmed, giggling and rubbing him gently on the head.

He looked at Tuffnut, then nodded at the child and back over his shoulder.

"Er, you sure?" Tuffnut asked.

Dreamer grinned at him. "Yes."

The teen shrugged and rose to his feet, walked over, then picked up the child and placed him on Dreamer's shoulders. The child was heavier than expected, and the entire weight was taken by his forelegs, but it was comfortable. He quickly got the hang of walking, a little awkward at first, trying not to jostle his passenger too much and holding his head tall so that the boy could hold his neck for support.

The child was having the time of his _life_, gibbering excited nonsense and wobbling wildly as Dreamer slowly flapped his wings. Was this what it had felt like for Wanderer? The size ratio was about right, though he liked to think he'd had a bit more balance than this.

Wanderer was voicing his displeasure and avoiding his own charge trying to climb on _him_. When the boy wouldn't be dissuaded, he blocked him off with a wing and huffed at Tuffnut.

"Just a bit longer little guy, it's about that time. I'll make it up to you. Hey, how about after this, we go Loki Gobber? Kehehe."

Chuffing mischievously, Wanderer went to the first child to playfully bat his feet, much to the boy's amusement.

"You understand him?" Dreamer chirped, padding over.

"His tone, yes." He gave their toothy joke-smile. "Who we joke?"

"Big Long-Paw, smells of smoke, has tree-leg, tree-paw. He help when we shed."

Wanderer crooned thoughtfully. "He good Long-Paw? We… not much thinking when shedding."

"He very good Long-Paw, like sire for me. He enjoy good joke." They both purred their approval.

When a tall medium-built woman – one of the Thorstons, by her appearance – picked up the kids, they were taken aside to conspire. Tuffnut didn't use words, so Dreamer couldn't cheat his understanding, but he was remarkably good at charades and it was a simple idea. It hinged on a spot of ignorance, but then the fact wasn't well known and Gobber hadn't shown much interest in the Nightstrikers beyond their scales. Knowing Tuffnut, there'd be a backup plan anyway.

It came to mind he hadn't been on this side of a prank before, or at least not intentionally. This was going to be _fun_…

* * *

The forge was becoming a little too familiar, Gobber had spent _way_ too much time there in the last week. He and Tarbon, his replacement apprentice, had _finally_ finished repairing, sharpening and polishing a reserve of weapons, and were now working on processing the scrap iron left over from the battle.

He was thrilled for a change of pace when Tuffnut dropped Toothy on his counter, Hiccup hopping up next to him. "Ah, Tuffnut, wha' can ah do for yeh?" he asked as he limped over.

"How much do you know about _Night Fury teeth…?_" the boy asked slowly.

"E's a dragon ain' he? They're all tha same when it comes down to it. Wha's the problem?"

"Oh good. I dunno, he's having trouble biting his food. I think he might have a toothache or something." Gobber couldn't help smiling, the kid had really taken to the little dragons and it'd done him a _world_ of good. Here he was, actually caring for something more than himself. "I brought Hiccup to compare." He bared his teeth at Hiccup, and the little dragon's face split open to reveal short but _wicked_ sharp fangs lining his maw.

"Alrigh' then," Gobber nodded, "le's 'ave a look." He turned to Toothy, who did indeed look a little sorry for himself, and copied Tuffnut's cue.

…

"Tuffnut,"

"Yeah?"

"This dragon 'as no teeth."

"_What?_ What are you talking about? Of course he has teeth, his name's _Toothy_ for Thor's sake."

"No, he don't. Ah swear, if you pulled this poor thing's teeth for a stupid prank, ah'll–"

"I would _never_ do such a thing to Toothy!" Tuffnut gasped at him indignantly. Come to think of it, Stoick _had_ loudly exclaimed something about Toothy along these lines… but they'd been a few mugs of ale deep and Gobber's memory was fuzzy. And he was _sure_ they'd both had teeth when he'd helped with their shedding.

Tuffnut didn't give him time to think. "Hey, Bucket! Come 'ere!"

Bucket, who happened to be walking past with Mulch, stopped and turned slowly to the forge. When he saw Tuffnut beckoning he moseyed over. "Hello, Gobber! Hello, Tuffnut!" he greeted cheerfully.

"Bucket, this loon's try'n ter tell me tha' this dragon's go' teeth," Gobber said as he waved his tongs at them.

"Oooh, yeah," Bucket said airily as the dragon swivelled to look at him. "Sharp teeth…"

"See wha' ah– _wait_, wha'?" Brows furrowed, Gobber leaned forward and the dragon swivelled back. _Definitely_ no teeth. "Ah you in on this, Bucket?"

"…No… Dragon has sharp teeth," he said slowly, scratching his bucket as Toothy turned back to him.

"Are _you_ havin' _us_ on, Gobber? That dragon does indeed be havin' teeth." Mulch had just caught up to Bucket, having not been in any hurry, and Hiccup turned to look at him. "Ooooh, you mean th' little one? Yep, that there does indeed be a toothless dragon. Well ah'll be."

"Ah we talkin abou' the same dragons 'ere?" Gobber pointed with his tongs. "This 'ere's Toothy. Er, the one with no teeth." _That's_ what Stoick had been going on about, that Toothless had teeth and Toothy didn't. He rolled his eyes. Must be a Haddock thing.

"No, no, Toothy here definitely be havin' teeth, i's the other one that do nae," Mulch insisted.

Tuffnut folded his arms. "I don't think you _do_ know about dragon teeth, Gobber! Come on Toothy, maybe Fishlegs or Gothi can help." Toothy hopped down from the counter and the pair took off at a jog.

"I'm thinkin' yeh should stay off the drink durin' the day, Gobber," Mulch advised carefully. "Come on, Bucket."

Gobber stared after them all incredulously, then turned to Hiccup. "Am ah goin' _mad?_"

Hiccup just gave him a gummy smile before taking off after Tuffnut and Toothy.

…

Wait…

* * *

The light of the sky-fire glistened off the wet trees and ground, a dazzling sheen across the distant foliage on the small-land. Wanderer admired it all from high above, though he preferred the more subtle glow from the sky-ice at night. He sighed, lamenting the short nights that were barely even dark anymore; it was very unfair that this land had such a bright hot-season but that the inversely dark cold-season was too cold and wild to be out in.

He was enjoying himself too much for the thought to sour his mood though. He still couldn't completely relax, a territorial Fire-Scale or a few other wing-hunters might consider the Nightstrikers a threat to their territory, but he was more comfortable watching for that.

A loud purring croon rolled from his chest, overjoyed at Dreamer's rapid healing. He didn't expect to be groomed, he was capable of handling it himself, but having someone else do it was absolute _bliss_ and he couldn't wait for when they finished flying. Hrrr, speaking of, the sky-fire was just past its zenith and they hadn't yet needed to nap. Soon they wouldn't need to at all, though the occasional nap was always good.

Light gusts of turbulence nudged at his wings and he compensated automatically, but Dreamer wobbled wildly nearby. Wrr, nobody could observe them this far away so he didn't have to hide his skill as much, and how was Dreamer to learn if Wanderer didn't demonstrate? Though, some things such as turbulence simply came with practise. Lots and lots of practise.

It was still strange to fly in this small body. He was so used to having weight and momentum, it had been a shock to go back to having little of either. Rrmm, he was eating quite well this cycle though, he might even be bigger than last time. The thought had him tidying his posture and straightening his shoulders; for all his problems with the Long-Paw nest, it would be worth it.

A light brush on his tail brought him out of his thoughts, and he turned to find Dreamer lazily looping over him. Revelling in his freedom, a wave of impulse washed over him and as Dreamer looped above him again he rolled over, sunk his claws into his shoulders and flanks and folded his wings. He was close enough to hear the surprised squeak as they began plummeting to the ground below.

He nuzzled and licked and purred as the air rushed past them, revelling in the impromptu contact. After a few moments of tense surprise Dreamer found his wits, laughing as he licked Wanderer over the head. Sadly, these small bodies were still not big and strong enough for great heights and it felt like no time at all before they were forced to separate and catch themselves.

They began labouring back up, but they'd already been pushing their altitude and now Dreamer was flagging. The drop had cut their flying a little short, but it had been worth it. _Mrrr_, and it did mean that the inevitable grooming would be sooner rather than later. He tipped his head back to the nest with a bark, Dreamer chuffed an _affirmative_ and they levelled out to glide back.

"Hungry," Dreamer barked, reminiscent of when he'd been a hungry hatchling Wanderer had struggled to feed. He crooned his approval, Dreamer still had much weight to regain even if his body would never catch up in growing.

The tree-ground over the water had been rebuilt since its fiery demise in the nest-fight, but there were no Long-Paws busily carting fish around over it. He angled back towards the big rock-den, but Dreamer swooped down into the nest itself and towards Fish-Legs who was walking up the path.

"Fish-Legs! Hungry!" Dreamer barked at him happily as he landed, Wanderer alighting next to him a moment later.

_Greetings, interested_ he chattered before speaking. "Hungry? Yes. We go food."

"We _get_ food," Dreamer corrected, though his impatient bouncing belied his interest.

"Go… Go… Get? Get…" The Long-Paw mumbled over the word as they ambled along, and Wanderer took the opportunity to get a good sniff of his leg as they walked. It didn't even smell _remotely_ of fish. Maybe… no, the other one didn't either. He huffed in incredulous amusement. _Long-Paws_…

Fish-Legs approached a tree-den and opened the den-mouth, and Dreamer darted inside. Wanderer motioned for Fish-Legs to enter first, then stood in the den-mouth. It was cool and dark inside, and there were many strange smells of the foods that Long-Paws prevented from rotting while still somehow keeping edible; if barely, in some cases.

Dreamer was tossed a few fish from a tree-thing by a wall, then Wanderer happily snapped a few out of the air as well; they were even still quite fresh, recently caught. He wasn't really hungry, but he was determined to grow to his potential. While he had been reasonably well provided for as a hatchling the first time there had been times there'd not been enough, and he was sure he'd missed out on some growing after leaving his family. This body would be bigger and stronger if he had anything to say about it.

From the back of the wood-den, Fish-Legs procured a pair of those _amazing_ chewy fish – a whole one _each!?_ They hadn't had any since many nights before the nest-fight, and they'd never had a _whole_ one before! Half at most.

He didn't hand them over right away though. "Say good why, I give," he said to Dreamer, waving one of the strange fish at him. Dreamer huffed and began pawing at the dirt, so Wanderer turned with a grumble and kept lookout, doing his best to look bored. It was quiet, only one or two Long-Paws pricking his ears but none in sight.

A sound of scuffing preceded noisy chewing, and Wanderer perked and turned to Fish-Legs for his own treat. It was held out for him, so he padded over to take it much to Fish-Legs satisfaction.

No sooner than his teeth had clamped down on it, filling his mouth with the intense flavour, that some of the footsteps outside got a little too close. Wanderer spun around in time to see a silhouette enter the den mouth which then closed with a _clack_. Fish-Legs' cry of _confused, alarm,_ matched the panic rising in Wanderer's chest and buzzing at his limbs. After a heartbeat for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness, he could easily make out the burly female Long-Paw standing between him and freedom.

Her appearance took up little of his attention compared to the broad Long-Paw claw she held, one of the big flat ones with sharp sides, but somehow the most dangerous thing about her seemed to be her eyes. Dark and small, they appeared to be set almost too far into her head and had dark rims around them, and they fixed on him with a mad glee.

The Long-Paw ignored his warning hiss, infuriatingly tiny as he was, and strode forward. He darted around it, turning back to see Dreamer fixed in place with his eyes boggling and mouth gaping, but it ignored the both of them. It walked up to Fish-Legs who was babbling and looking around wildly, apparently blinded by the darkness, then his panicked sounds suddenly cut off with a _very_ loud and hard noise that pierced Wanderer's head and rang in his ears and eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to clear his senses, looking again to see the Long-Paw standing impassively over a crumpled form.

And then he felt the blood drain from his body as its head slowly turned to look at Dreamer.

Dreamer.

_His Dreamer_.

He barked into what he hoped to be a dangerous growl, finally snapping Dreamer out of his trance though he could do little more than scrabble back into the corner. He was still panicking, crouching low to the ground with his chest heaving.

_No!_ Wanderer sprung forward and sank his teeth into the Long-Paw's leg, the taste of bitter blood fighting that of dirty salt, but it ignored him and even dragged him along as it took slow steps forward. _Anger, anger, anger_, it growled as it went. _Ground this small body!_ Gutting it was out of the question, he would need to slash its throat or blind it. With a guttural snarl he clawed his way up the Long-Paw, feeling his claws cut shallowly into flesh through the thick not-skins, but this time it took notice.

As his paw grabbed its shoulder a long paw closed around his hindleg and he was ripped off, shreds of not-skin coming away in his claws, and he could only flail as he was swung around. Dirt filled his senses as his head met the ground, but he kept going and pain cut through his daze as he collided with the wall and crumpled into a heap. He dimly heard his pained yelp echoed by a cry of alarm and then an angry growl from Dreamer.

But now the Long-Paw was fixed on Wanderer, growling and snarling Long-Paw words at him while it raised its broad claw.

"Dreamer," he gasped, "den-mouth!"

The smaller Nightstriker leapt into action, shooting past the Long-Paw and jumping up to the mechanism. The broad claw halted in the air, and then shouts of _surprise, bewilderment, hate, RAGE,_ got Wanderer's paws back under him despite his aching head and foggy thoughts. He leaped and again bit into the leg, though it had as much effect as the first time.

His heart stopped as he felt the motion and jolt of impact through the leg, and heard the _YIPE_ of pain.

Then light grew in the wood-den as the den-mouth opened, and Wanderer's heart started again as he heard scrabbling and the outraged cries of the Long-Paw.

It seemed to realise he was there again and the leg started moving, but he let go and let the Long-Paw throw itself off-balance. He seized the opportunity and darted around it and out into the light, panic surging as a _chunk_ announced the broad claw burying into the ground next to his tail; his folded tail fins brushed it on the way past.

Pain lanced through Wanderer's wing as he tried to open it, so all he could do was run. He didn't know where to, his thoughts slid from his mind and he didn't recognise where he was. Dreamer swooped down to run a little ahead of him, thankfully leading him hopefully to safety but also putting himself in danger again. Especially with all the noise he was making, shouting and barking as he was.

Dreamer stopped, and Wanderer was aware of him barking and whining frantically, but darkness was creeping across his sight. He could hear Dreamer clearly, but other sounds seemed slow and muted, and suddenly his paws would no longer support him. He felt his side hit the ground, aware of another cry of alarm and a tongue over his face, but it couldn't keep the darkness from consuming him.

* * *

"Haha, well I wasn't there for the whole naming thing, but Hiccup wasn't the type to give a degrading name. No, it turns out Night Furies can sheath their teeth, I guess he initially thought the dragon didn't have any." Astrid rolled her eyes. "That would have been _very_ Hiccup."

Heather laughed. "That wasn't mentioned in the saga! It seems like an important detail."

"Yeah, well it was embellished in a few areas. I'm also pretty sure he wouldn't have 'heroically' swallowed that raw fish either. _Only he_ would think to try eating a something a dragon barfed up for him instead of taking insult. Well, I suppose I can't argue with the results."

"It's incredible, I–"

"_Shh_," Astrid hissed, stopping their slow pace. She'd thought she heard something… Yes, those were definitely distressed dragon sounds, getting closer. She couldn't quite make out which dragon, and there were none in the sky over Berk.

"It sounds like it's coming from this way," Heather offered, leaning in between some houses. The path they'd just walked up looped around those buildings, so Astrid beckoned and took off at a run.

They hadn't even reached the corner when a frantic Hiccup shot out from around the house, quickly followed by a dazed Toothy. She crouched low and Hiccup bolted up to her, whining and barking and growling, then nosed at his flank – Astrid went rigid as she saw the long cut oozing dark blood.

"What–" she started, but Toothy promptly collapsed onto his side. Hiccup spun around with a panicked bark and nosed over his head and licked at his face, but the Night Fury's eyes drifted closed anyway.

Astrid saw red. "Heather," she growled through her teeth, "we need to go back and find Fishlegs again." Hiccup turned and whined at her, and she leaned forward as if it would help her understand him. "…Fishlegs?" He whined again. That didn't bode well.

She sized up Toothy. He was far too big now to carry without heavily jostling him, and it looked likely he'd suffered a head wound. _Someone is going to _die_ today_, she thought murderously, then started as Stormfly _slammed_ into the ground next to her and bounced to a halt in front of Hiccup. She gave some low, short barks, to which the little Night Fury hissed and growled a reply, and the spines around her head and along her tail flexed dangerously.

"Stormfly, we need to get Toothy to Fishlegs," Astrid said icily, then suppressed her surprise as the dragon promptly picked up Toothy in her mouth and fixed her with a level look. "Heather, go find Stoick."

The girl had been watching the exchange sternly, and even with everything going on Astrid noted her upper lip twitching, clenched jaw, and anger in her eyes, again tucking it aside to think on later. At the order, she gave a defiant look, then turned and threw open the door of a nearby house. Her posture changed as she did so, becoming frightened and wary. "Help!" she shouted, "The Furies have been hurt, someone get Stoick!"

_Disobedient little… Focus, think about it later._ A meaty boy, maybe ten or eleven, bolted out of the house, took a few seconds to stare at the two dragons and two girls staring back at him, then took off up into the village as fast as his legs would carry him.

"Fine then," Astrid growled, "just stay back. We don't know who or what we're dealing with here." Something flashed through Heather's eyes, and she nodded.

Stormfly took long, even strides after Hiccup, staying close to his tail as he scuttled down the path. Astrid's axe was in her hand as she loped after them, and Heather easily kept pace just behind her. She took the time to cool her blood, level out her thoughts, reign in her rage. She thought of the derision directed at the Berserkers after the battle, how their blind rage made them strong fighters but weak warriors. She could be better than that.

They stopped not too far from Fishlegs' house, Hiccup nervously watching a storeroom with its door ajar. At this point Astrid noticed him heavily favouring his injured leg, it hadn't been obvious before with how his wings obscured his body while he scurried along but he wasn't using it at all.

She spun her axe in her hand and squeezed an eye shut, prowling across the front of the small building to try to get an idea of what was inside. Hiccup appeared by the door and poked his nose around it, then relaxed a little and slunk inside.

Trusting the dragon's sense of smell Astrid stalked inside and spun, letting her darkness-adjusted eye take in the interior properly. Nothing but boxes, barrels, and a mound of– "Fishlegs!" she shouted, dropping to her friend's side. The wings on his helmet were bent flat, but he was breathing. She rolled him over and patted his face, but he was out cold.

Heather was suddenly beside her, but only seemed able to stare at the teen and made no effort to help. Astrid rolled him onto his side and tilted his head to ensure his breathing wouldn't be obstructed, but then slumped. She had _no idea_ how to help an injured dragon beyond packing a wound, but they preferred taking care of that themselves anyway. Without Fishlegs… she was lost. She was being pulled in three different directions, one to help Fishlegs, one to help Toothy, and one to track down the perpetrator. But she couldn't do all of them.

One of them she was better at than the others.

She stood and darted back outside, then crouched by Hiccup who was laying against Stormfly's leg to clean his wound. The poor little dragon was shaking all over, and while his frills were flat to his head his ears stood up on end. "Hey," she said gently as he stopped cleaning to watch her. "I know you're scared and hurt, and I'm sorry, but… Track…?" She pointed to his flank, then gestured to the storehouse and Toothy. Hopefully he remembered the word, or could make sense of her.

He watched her uncertainly – it was unsettling with his eyes narrowed to slits – but with a glance at his brother he bared his teeth and growled, then limped back to the door and put his nose to the ground. While he picked up the scent, Astrid motioned to Stormfly to stay, then helped to gently lower the limp Night Fury to a patch of grass.

Stormfly made a fierce sound, one that didn't need translating; _good hunting_. Astrid nodded and took off after Hiccup, trusting her dragon to know more of how to care for Toothy.

Down the village they went, Astrid quickly noticing the dark blotches that Hiccup regularly put his nose to. Her heart surged in knowing the little Furies had given as good as they'd got, though the marks stopped abruptly. Down, down, until they reached the ramps to the docks and a pit formed in Astrid's stomach. Down, down, Hiccup struggling to keep his pace but fighting on. Along the docks and out to – an empty pier.

Hiccup stopped, then looked up at Astrid and whined.

"Okay, okay, ummm…" Astrid racked her head for ideas. How much of a head start did they have? Quite a good one. There was also no name or face to the perpetrator, but they were injured… Stormfly could get the scent, but they'd need to fly out to every boat, and there were a dozen of them stretched across the horizon.

She could only try.

* * *

Sound was the first thing Wanderer was aware of. Not any sounds in particular, just that there was sound. It throbbed with a dull and distant ache in his head, a pain that simply said not to move, so he didn't.

Was he safe? Smell came next, just enough to take in stone, Dreamer, and Storm-Fly. Yes, he was safe.

He let out a relieved sigh as he drifted off.

After a timeless rest, he roused again. The ache in his head was less but still told him to take it easy, so he cracked open an eye to see Dreamer filling his vision. He had to close it again as a wet tongue ran gently over his head, cooling and soothing the sore spot on the side.

They were in their den, and he could smell Storm-Fly nearby as well, confirming their safety. Even still, it was all he could do to stop himself from bolting out and flying as far as his wings would carry him. He vocalised his displeasure in pained whines, pulling Dreamer closer to nuzzle into his chest and clutch at his comforting purrs.

He _hated_ this uncertainty. Sometimes, in his old warm-nest, Fire-Scales challenged him for status and rarely a Spine-Tail might perceive some slight – he couldn't help if he was sleeker, faster, and better-looking – and take enough offense to challenge, but that was routine and not particularly life-threatening. Even the queen had been straightforward and predictable for the most part. His old nest had made sense. Here, he was beginning to think that it wasn't that he couldn't understand the Long-Paw nest, but that they were just not things that could be made sense of. He was understanding them _less_ the more he was around them.

He couldn't work it out. It wasn't a male competing for their dam, not that such attempts ever worked out well, and they were far too young to challenge for status or any reason really. "Why…?" he asked into his friend-mate once he got his whimpers under control.

"She lose hatchling to scale-wing-hunter," Dreamer said into the back of his neck. "She angry still, not care queen do."

"_That_ why attack fledglings?" Wanderer whined incredulously, but noticed the tells in Dreamer's breathing and muscles. "…You not say all…"

"I say all. Queen do."

"I do," he said meekly, instantly knowing he was right.

"No," Dreamer brushed across his back as he curled up into the embrace. "Queen do. Also bad Long-Paw not know you fledgling. She have bad thinking."

"It nearly kill us!" Wanderer growled. "I kill many Long-Paws. _All_ dams angry for Nightstrikers? Only need _one_ thing want kill us. We not safe here."

"…We not safe here," Dreamer agreed, "but we not safe… not here. We go, we still not safe." He gave a gentle nuzzle. "We need survive cold-season."

Wanderer whimpered and took a deep breath, recognising truth – and in the process, caught the smell of Nightstriker blood. He couldn't feel any cuts on himself, which meant… He wearily pulled himself to his paws, the dull ache in his head flaring in warning.

The smell wasn't fresh, but it was recent. He didn't have to look far. Dreamer was still laying on his side, not having moved, and right – there on his – right flank – _Dreamer's_ – a – long – _blood_ – gash –

_Sinking his claws into the frail leg, he pulled Dreamer close to wrap around him as they fell. He rolled so that he would hit the ground first – then felt his bones snap and his wing tear, the impact slamming into his chest an instant later. He fought off the panic, he had to hope… _Maybe, maybe…

_He twisted out from under the tail before it could crush them, and his back hit the ground a frantic heartbeat later. The air exploded from his lungs and his muscles strained to keep himself from crushing his friend as they rolled to a stop. _Maybe… please…_ His heart raced as the form in his embrace did not stir… then something splintered and shattered inside him as he felt a warm wetness spreading rapidly down his chest._

NO!_ Not now! Not after everything… _Maybe, maybe…_ He still had it, that curious sensation that had started when he'd been grounded. _Maybe, maybe…_ His whole body screamed in protest, but he dragged his head down, eyes still closed, and tightened his embrace as best he could, focusing, _willing_ his Dreamer to live, to take the new life, even as blood pooled in his wings…_

_He felt the moment Dreamer slipped from his broken body, and keened in oppressive silence. He hugged his lifeless burden, nuzzling it through what was left of the wing membranes and whimpering raggedly. His broken wings, his torn tail fin, his grounding, all inconsequential in the face of his anguish._

_Finally, drained of everything, he took a long shaky breath… Had it worked? How would he know? And how would he… No, worry about that later. He fought the blackness creeping into his mind, and focused… Had anything changed?_

Thump-thump.

_Maybe… maybe… He slumped. There was nothing more he could do. He probably wouldn't die from these wounds, but he needed time to recover before he could work things out._

_Long-Paw shouts. Dreamer's idiot sire. He ignored them._

_The shouts neared, then a stumbling run sounded towards him. He didn't have the energy to fight, but he did manage to crack open an eye. The Long-Paw, lowered to its knees, stared at him pleadingly. He put all the scorn he could manage into his glare back at it._

_It bowed its head and he let darkness claim his sight again, drifting in and out of consciousness. They took Dreamer's body from him, ignoring his feeble whines; he was too weary and injured to stop them, though it was empty now anyway._

_Time passed, marked only by the slow drying of the blood on his scales. The smell filled his nose and beat at his sanity, a constant reminder of his failure and loss, but he could only suffer it. Sometimes the wind would blow in just the right direction to grant him reprieve… but then it would change again, and the anguish would hit him twice as hard._

_His own wounds, severe as they were, had staunched long ago. He tried to move, and with a whiny groan he managed to do very little at all. It got the attention of the fierce young female, though as she approached she appeared deflated and her face was wet. Wanderer saw her sadness for him, for his sadness._

_Her hums attempted comfort, but were meaningless. Only one thing held meaning now. He closed his eyes, trying not to breathe through his nose… When she returned some time later she offered him a deep-round-thing with water in it, which he painfully craned to reach and lap at feebly. It did little more than wet his mouth, but it helped._

_She then used a crumpled thing in her paw to rub the water onto him. He whined at the renewed smell, but the ministration did not cease. She was cleaning him, he realised. Half of him was heavily grateful, the other half moaned and whined that it was another part of Dreamer that was no longer with him._

He squeezed his eyes shut. He had to hope, had to… Was that him whining? Wait, where was he, in some kind of cave?

Reality trickled back in and his clamped muscles began to unlock, but the pain in his head reached debilitating levels and forced him to the ground. He recognised frantic whines and licks over his face, which was already quite damp. _Dreamer_… Cracking his eyes open, he tried to give a reassuring croon but it came out as a pathetic whimper. Every part of his body felt like it had been flying all day, in different directions. Not the first time this had happened, but not for a long time now and not this badly. He attributed it to his head-hurt, his thinking had been turbulent since then.

Focusing on long, slow breaths, he tenderly stretched his limbs as best he could. Dreamer's frantic fussing was anything but helpful, but he managed to wave him off with a light growl.

He desperately needed sleep, but there was something he needed to do first. He unsteadily rose to his paws and ambled around his uncertain Dreamer to his flank. Shakily – only partially due to his fatigue – he ran his tongue over the wound. It was deep, probably enough to scar, but already well enough treated. He did so again anyway, more for the act than the result.

_My Dreamer…_ He purred and nuzzled into his side, collapsing on top of him and whining his happiness and relief as he rapidly descended into sleep.

* * *

Brenna hastily moored her fishing boat to a rock tucked away in the channel through the middle of the main island and stowed the sail, but she wasn't really paying attention to what she was doing. Who'd taught the dumb rats to _open_ _doors?_ Even if she could go back, she didn't think she'd ever be able to sleep in her own bed again, not knowing that the beasts could just wander in whenever they felt like it. Her skin crawled with knowing what a lie her safety had been thus far.

Once the boat was just another dim shape in the shadows of the tall rock walls rising either side of the channel, she climbed out and rested on the cool stone ledge she'd moored against to rewrap her leg. She poured salt water over it, ignoring the pain to brush the blood off and inspect the injury. Two bites, two curved sets of puncture marks, but not any real damage. She'd have an interesting scar at least. The cuts over her back were shallow, merely a discomfort and not worth attention.

She knew better than to try to escape straight away, they only needed to hold her until the boy regained consciousness. The testimony of dragons was worthless, but with these bites and the boy's word… Maybe she should have just killed him, it would have made her as evil as the beasts but at least she'd be helping Berk free itself of them.

Not as evil as that snake Mildew at least. She'd thought he had hated the dragons as much as anyone, but it turned out he'd just loved himself more. She spat onto the rock. Good riddance. She'd been so furious with him she'd almost forgotten her own grudge, at least until she'd spotted the black monsters scrounging in the bloody field after the battle. That was when she'd realised she hadn't just been fighting for her family, she was fighting for _all_ the families on Berk.

Though, she did have to admit, Mildew's plans had been far better. All Brenna was capable of was waiting for an opportunity, then screwing it up so badly she'd had to flee the village.

She thought and prepared while waiting for the sun to set, which seemed the best time to cast off. While the summer night would not hide her boat completely, it would certainly be harder to see and they were likely to assume her long gone by then.

But then what? She wasn't an Outcast – as good as one, but not – so she could go to the other tribes. Not allies of Berk though, she couldn't be sure they wouldn't get a message there first… So then…

Slowly, a plan formed. She could go maybe two days with what she had on the boat, but if she could hop islands to make fire and refill her water she could travel significantly further. Her boat wasn't quite as fast as a longship, but unladen it came close. It also wasn't big, but nor was it small.

Yes… She could have her revenge on the evil offspring of the demon that had killed her husband and son, and perhaps even be celebrated a hero in the process…

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_Wanderer's episode is based on PTSD, but that is all. I am not going to put a label to it. I actually know a couple of people with different levels of the disorder, and I do not take it lightly, but nor do I assume to be familiar with its effects and certainly not enough to write a character with it. Here, he is vividly recalling a torturous memory to the point he loses his grounding in reality, the result of a mountain of stress on top of a head injury. I leave further analysis up to interpretation._

_Secondly, life does get in the way after all. I will unfortunately need to drop to fortnightly updates while I catch up on... everything. I don't know how long this will be, at least until I can catch up on my studies and refill my buffer. If you are looking for something to read in the meantime, I recommend Seeker by Aelan-the-Guide on FFN, a similarly feral story about a Night Fury that's just past its prologue. It's a bit grittier than AGoW but promising to be a good read._


	13. Reprieve

"It's like the Bifrost plucked their ship out of the Archipelago! It's not big, they can't have gone far!"

Ah, to still be young. Stoick's own fury was bottled up, waiting for just the right moment to unleash itself on the offender; assuming he ever got the chance. At least the little dragons had come out of it okay, if not unscathed, though their trust would need to be earned again. _No, wait…_ He was back to thinking of them like animals, how much evidence to the contrary did he _need?_ Well, he would still need to make it up to them somehow.

A timid knock at the door announced Fishlegs, who quickly let himself in and waved a piece of parchment. "Found her! Hiccup insisted on tracking her to her house, his leg's pretty messed up but that's the advantage of having four of them I guess. Oh, right, er, her name is Brenna no-clan, lost a husband and son when a tower fell on them during a raid and never really got over it, we were told. Worked a fishing boat, probably the one she took. Got a description of her here."

The name was familiar… A recent incident? He'd look it up later. "Good. Give it to the runner to get to Spitelout with a message he's to leave as soon as his dragon's rested." Fishlegs moved to obey with a curt nod, and Stoick turned to Astrid as she paced around the room. "Calm, lass. I know it's hard, but you can't explode at everything."

"Just… this one hit so close to home, you know?"

Stoick gave a wry chuckle. "When you're Chief, _every_ problem is close to home."

Fishlegs re-entered and stood awkwardly at the door until Stoick motioned for him to take a seat. "How are you, lad?"

He shrugged. "Nothing like a knock on the head to start the day, right? Er, figure of speech, I know it's night. So to speak."

"Same old Fishlegs," Astrid sighed in relief as she took a seat as well. Under her breath, she light-heartedly added "Though if it were anyone else, we'd be worried…"

"And the Furies?"

The boy gingerly shook his head. "Toothy was yet to regain consciousness when we left him in their stable. Speaking of, you might want to forget Stormfly for a little while, Astrid. She's going _nowhere_. Hiccup's wound closed pretty quickly, as deep as it is, though it still looks pretty bad. He'll probably get a good scar out of it."

"…What do they… think… about…" Stoick was trying, but he still had trouble connecting the idea in his head.

Fishlegs sighed. "We won't know until Toothy wakes… Heh, I guess you could call him the 'big brother' of the pair. Anyway, Hiccup says they might spend some time away from the village for a while, but they'll be back."

Stoick baulked. "Away from– where will they go? It's dangerous out there!"

"I dunno, he wouldn't say. I think that was the point."

Sighing, Stoick rubbed his head. "Help me understand, Fishlegs, what am I dealing with here? They're not… _tribesmen_, I can't order them around, but they aren't sheep or yaks either."

"I think you're looking at it the wrong way," he said. "You're trying to fit them into existing categories, but there isn't really–"

"A Chief's Heir!" Astrid shouted. "Just think of them like Thuggory or Cami, our honoured guests. Just, you know, without Mogadon or Bertha around."

"_That_ is something I can work with, thank you Astrid." Heh, there would probably be a similar fallout when the parents picked them up, too. "…Fishlegs, where _are_ their parents?"

Astrid lit up like a Monstrous Nightmare, leaning on the edge of her seat and staring intently, but Fishlegs just sighed. "We don't have to worry about any Night Furies coming to check on them." He fidgeted while Stoick exercised his namesake. "Alright, look, I will tell you if you order me to, but hear me out first. Yes, I know the full story… _most_ of it, anyway, and we have _nothing_ to worry about. There won't be any angry Furies looking for them, and there aren't any others on the island. However, if I _do_ tell you, things get a _lot_ more complicated and then the Furies have promised they'll leave. Forever."

"Not a _word_ of this to _anyone_," Stoick growled to both teens, then took in their frantic nodding. If word about dragons keeping secrets got out… It wouldn't even need the belief they could talk, many people only saw the bad in things regardless of what leaps of logic they had to make or ignore.

With that out of the way… he wasn't thrilled with the idea himself. Secrets implied they had done or would do something he wouldn't like. Given their promise, it was something big, too. "I would ask questions."

"I might have answers."

Despite himself, Stoick huffed a laugh. The boy would make an _excellent_ Advisor one day. "Can you guarantee this secret will not harm anyone or the village?"

"Yes."

"Does it pertain to something or someone who _has?_"

A few moments of silence. "Not directly. They are here on purely friendly terms, if that's what you mean."

Cryptic… Stoick had never been good with that sort of thing, but the intent was clear. Good enough. "So someone brought them here?" Silence; admittedly, that was more a test for the boy than the dragons. "I mean that nobody has any claim on them."

"They're half Hooligan and half wild dragon, no other allegiances."

Had this been Gobber or Spitelout he probably would have jokingly asked which one was the Hooligan, but he bit back the remark. "They keep it for personal reasons then?" Fishlegs nodded. "Alright then. Go get some rest." He had a few ideas but there was always a missing piece of the puzzle, no doubt the part that was painful for them. Stoick could respect that, with the assurances that were given.

Astrid… less so. "Yeh can't know everything either, lass."

She groaned. "I know, I'm just sooo curious. Is this what Fishlegs feels about _everything?_ Yeesh, no wonder he's so excitable." They shared a chuckle.

Heirs, it was so obvious now. This might not be so hard after all. The Night Furies were special, so he could even think of the other dragons as their clan members; lower ranking but still deserving of respect and fair treatment, and mostly outside of Hooligan jurisdiction. It was a good thing he'd been given the idea before he'd asked the question, he would probably have been far less diplomatic then…

But this he could work with. "Although… If we're to think of them as Heirs, we have some work to do."

* * *

Wanderer _purred_ as the sky-fire heated his scales and sleep licked his mind. His back-spines were comfortably slotted into the sand under him, allowing him to fully expose his underside to the warm light. _Clever Dreamer_… His tail swept across the sand, brushing the bank that Dreamer had dug up; it was shallow, but enough to hide them from Long-Paws on the water. This particular position on the beach was also quite well hidden from the sky unless flying in from sea, which was unlikely from this angle.

It was liberating to lay there like that, out in the open with almost all his guards lowered. Exposed, but where he would not be seen, only his hearing sharp for the sound of wings cutting through the air. _Nothing_ could sneak up on them here, not even another Nightstriker. Dreamer had challenged him to, he'd only ever got as far as the top of the cliff and not even that far if trying to fly in.

This was _exactly_ what he needed right now, to show the world he was not a scared little hatchling hiding away or jumping at every movement. He loved that his Dreamer would always soar when he needed him to, just as Wanderer tried to do for him.

Eventually the cool breeze overcame the warmth as the sky-fire began to burn out, but he was content to remain there a little longer. Hrrr, then again, Dreamer was fidgeting and clearly eager to get moving. He rolled to his paws and shook himself free of the damp sand. "What you doing?" he warbled.

"Make Nightstriker in sand," Dreamer replied absently as he picked at a mound with a claw. Curiosity thrummed in Wanderer's throat as he leaned in to look… if he ignored the smell, texture, colour, and lifelessness, it sort of almost did look like a Nightstriker.

He nosed at Dreamer's injured flank before tending to it; it was healing nicely and he was able to put a little weight on it now. Wanderer's head-hurt had stopped aching a pawful of nights ago, and his wing now just felt a bit bruised and tender but was not painful to fly on.

The poised wings belied Dreamer's apparent placidness – smirking, Wanderer licked the sensitive wingtip and barked in amusement as Dreamer yipped and tackled him. Cheeky Nightstriker was not above abusing his reluctance to play roughly with the still-healing injury, enthusiastically clawing and biting while Wanderer just tried to hold him off.

He rolled out of the pin and skipped away, feigning boredom while Dreamer limped after him. "Hrrmm, I thought you faster," he teased, then jumped away from a flap-powered leap that ended predictably poorly.

Dreamer huffed as he shook sand off his head. "First for catch wing-prey get bigger prey!"

Barking in alarm, Wanderer leapt into the air after him and wheeled up the scattered updrafts, then laboured up above wing-prey level. He had to fight the air here as it knocked him from side to side, his body still just a little too small to ride through it, but it was good for building strength. Dreamer was having a harder time nearby, as he was less experienced and even smaller.

He spotted a flock of wing-prey a little way out to sea and waited for them to near, letting himself drift as best he could. When they were too far below to see his intentions, he used the turbulent air to silently cruise over with minimal loss in altitude.

Dreamer was going for a different tactic, swooping for speed and coming up behind them. Wanderer didn't want to scatter the flock for nothing, but he _did_ want to get there first… As soon as he dared, he folded his wings and plummeted at an angle, not quite as steep as he would have liked but fast and in their blind spot. He adjusted with minute twitches of his folded wings, and at the last second opened his mouth to snatch his chosen quarry by its neck, killing it instantly. He flipped to grab it in his paws and look back, seeing two clouds of feathers scattering in the breeze. _Eels_, he hadn't seen who'd won.

He transferred the kill back to his mouth to land, Dreamer floating down gently shortly after and flapping into a hover just above the ground to lower himself down. "I not see who win," Wanderer admitted as they lay their kills out.

"You win. Barely," he pouted.

With a haughty chuff Wanderer compared the two to pick his prize – and grumbled when he discovered they were the same size. Yes it was good that Dreamer would not eat less, but he felt like he'd been cheated and if they were still hungry they'd just hunt again.

"Wrrr, good catch," Dreamer warbled as Wanderer arbitrarily picked one and took it aside to tear into it. "Much easier than when hatchlings."

"Yes, need more now but still easier."

They made short work of their catches, the silence only broken by the crunching of bones, the wet tearing of meat, and the waves lapping at the sand.

"What we do this night?" Dreamer asked while cleaning his claws and face.

Wanderer hummed thoughtfully as he did the same. "Could swim," he suggested, tilting his head towards the beach. "Water-hunters maybe, but safe near. Or could fly to other small-land."

"Other small-land?" Dreamer perked, his tail lashing excitedly. "Where?"

With a shrug, he started sharpening his claws on the rock. "Just fly, find small-land for rest, fly back. Not need big small-land, only enough for rest on."

"We do that! Us only!" The smaller Nightstriker bounced and flapped impatiently.

Hrrr, come to think of it they hadn't just flown off to nowhere since being hatched again. "Yes," Wanderer chuffed happily. "But catch again wing-prey first. Last for catch get ear licked!"

* * *

Low to the ground, melting into shadows and prowling forward, Dreamer eyed his quarry. The wind shifted and he moved with it to stay upwind. He was _very_ mindful of the path he took, littered with little patches of danger as much of it was, until he was almost surrounded.

He took a long breath and held it – his enormous lungs held enough air for several minutes when not exerting himself – and picked up his pace, hopping over the steps on his injured leg. He could feel Wanderer's eyes boring critically into his back, but he didn't intend on getting caught. The target loomed above him, tall innocent strands of grass swaying gently in the breeze. Even holding his breath the smell tickled his nostrils and filled his mind with temptation, but he could be strong.

This was the tricky bit. Taking hold of something so narrow was near impossible with his paws, so he had to improvise. Balancing on his haunches and tail, he hooked two claws behind a blade and, from his other paw, one claw in front of it. With a quick slice, the scissor-motion cleanly snapped the reed. _Yes, it worked!_

Two stalks proved to be no trouble but three was less reliable, so he made quick work of a dozen more blades in pairs. Wary of the growing pressure in his lungs, he dropped the pair of flat rocks in his mouth and neatly lined up the blades over one of them, then took it in his good hindpaw. It was a little awkward to navigate them onto the other rock as well, but he managed, and gingerly took it in the paw of his injured leg.

The blades were now securely pinned between the rocks and his paws, and while he wasn't out of the trees yet he did feel elated at his success. _Whuff, I'm going to get rusty if my greatest technical accomplishment this year is picking up some grass…_

Very awkwardly and with a flare of pain deep in his leg, he stumbled into the air to be quickly joined by Wanderer. "Hrrr, I not can see how rocks let you carry sweet-grass… But you do… You clever Dreamer," he crooned.

"I hold rock. Sweet-grass between rock and paw, not can get out."

"Clever Dreamer," he repeated as he barrel-rolled around him.

The journey across the island last summer, when they had been much smaller, had taken significantly longer. Dreamer marvelled at the difference in how his wings carried him now, how the air didn't seem to slow him down as much. Strange as it was, the bigger he got the lighter he felt, and the less he needed to exert himself. He didn't feel far off the agility that Wanderer had shown while fully grown, but then he did have two perfectly functional tail fins.

He drifted a little higher to take in the scenes of the massive island; wondering if he could ever reach the top of the massive mountain in the middle, watching for other dragons, picking out the occasional field and shed. There were even a few new houses and animal pens, which made sense now that dragon raids were no longer a thing. An old fishing boat hugged the island, despite the early hour. It was all very serene.

With practised confidence, Dreamer drifted down into a hover above the stone outside their den, then braced his landing with his tail to lower himself to the ground. His claws uncomfortably pinched between the rocks and the hard ground, but his strong tail supported his weight enough to free them.

Wanderer immediately nudged him away from the haul and pushed him over to treat his wound again. He wasn't really sure how much it was helping, but his body seemed to approve and the cut didn't feel as tight afterwards. He hoped he wouldn't have a limp for the rest of his life. The rest of this life?

He was finally allowed to rise to his paws, and promptly bounded over to dive into the grass. He nuzzled and rolled even as he clawed and shredded it, there were maybe thirty strands all as long as he himself, so there was plenty for the two of them.

With nobody here to be embarrassed by, he loudly purred, squeaked, and growled his approval. It must have been in his head but his scales _ached_ for contact with it, particularly those on his face and neck. He caught Wanderer hoarding the heads of the stalks, and unleashed a ferocious growl at him. Tried to, anyway. What came out was closer to an indignant chirp, and only served to have Wanderer laughing uproariously with his tail thrashing.

A dragon laughing was suddenly the funniest thing he had ever heard, and he fell on his side with his own raucous laugh. Which was then even funnier, because he was a dragon as well.

He was trying to remember what had been so funny, his chest still heaving, when something brushed his nose. _Oh, hey, sweet-grass!_ He rolled in it, happily crooning his happiness. For some reason his throat and tail ached, but he was having too much fun to care. It felt particularly good on his neck. _If Vikings drank ale like this, maybe they not smell so bad!_ He laughed so hard at his own joke he thought his tail was going to fall off.

"Hey! Hey!" Wanderer giddily nudged him until he rose to his paws, wheezing for breath. It was a lot easier after he figured out he needed to roll off his back. "Who this?" He put on a mock-serious face – clearly struggling to keep it straight – and sheathed his top teeth. His bottom teeth remained out.

Dreamer _completely_ lost it.

* * *

"You didn't have to come for my sake, I don't mind doing this on my own."

Astrid playfully elbowed the girl as they walked down the village, bustling with the usual evening activity. "I'm _not_ doing this for your sake, it's something I really should have done a long time ago. Besides, it might be fun. It's nothing to do with the fact that I kicked your butt."

Heather rubbed her side with a grimace through her grin. "It wasn't my butt you kicked. Did you _really_ have to do that? That's going to bruise."

They met Snotlout going the other way, but all they got was a "Hey," with a casual grin. He looked _drained_, but if it meant she didn't have to put up with him hitting on her then she wasn't going to argue. She put him out of her mind.

"Yeah, well, you're a quick study. If I hadn't stepped it up you might have actually come close to hitting me," she replied, poking her tongue out. Maybe she _should_ have gone a little easier, but then fights were rarely fair and involved a lot of pain. She'd get over it.

"Alright, alright. I do appreciate you teaching me though, thank you."

"No worries." Astrid was overjoyed to have someone civilised to spar against, despite her inexperience, and it did seem to be working the girl out of her moping since the Furies had left.

They reached Fishlegs' house, where they'd been told they could find him, knocked on the door, and entered at the muffled shout.

"Back here!" They followed the voice into a side room near the back, the Ingerman study. Looked like he had it to himself today. "Astrid! Heather!" He immediately perked upon seeing them, hopping out of the chair to stand there nervously. "Uh, hi!"

"Hello Fishlegs," Heather greeted him sweetly. She was going to have _all_ the boys pining over her if she kept that up, she needed to roughen up a bit.

"'Sup Fish? Heather and I were wondering, would you… teach us Dragonese? She wants to learn, and I… should."

He looked at them blankly for a moment, then slumped with a groan.

"Please?" Heather stepped forward before he could say anything, and put a hand on his arm. "It would mean a lot to us…"

Fishlegs shuffled on the spot, straightening. "Well, I _could_ go over a few bits with you now… Here." He flipped open a book on the table, then slid the chair out of the way so they could all crowd around it. Astrid had to blink a few times, her eyes still adjusting to the candlelight. Actually not as much as she'd thought, half of both pages really were covered in strange marks and squiggles. "You can borrow this for a few days, it's everything I know right now. Actually, you'll be a better test for if the book can teach on its own. Here, I'll show you enough to get you started.

"See here? This is the legend." He pointed at a section at the top, a set of symbols listed against 'head', 'paw', 'wings', 'body', and 'tail'. "A lot of their words are body language, and most of them are really easy to pick up. Here, this one," he pointed to the sort of V symbol with a hooked and curved arrow next to it, "says to move head in a sweeping motion. Here it says what it means, 'us' or 'we', and sometimes there's a little note under it. In this case you nod down, like in 'I', and then sweep across to someone else." He stood next to Heather and faced Astrid, then demonstrated.

"I think I get it," Heather murmured, scanning over the book. "But what about wings? We don't have them."

"That _can_ be a bit tricky, but not many words use them and you can just use your shoulders. Here, 'fly', just shrug."

Astrid peered at a strange paragraph on the other page. "What about that bit? It doesn't have a symbol."

"Yeah, that's an example of miscellaneous. Sometimes a word uses something specific."

She blinked away the last spots from her vision and read the runes, _wet lips and smack lips twice_. "Like this?" Remembering seeing Toothy do that – a lot – she did her best to demonstrate. It felt a little silly to do.

"Yeah, 'eat', you got it. Anyway, I wrote this more as a translation guide, so it might be a bit fiddly to work from. This is just an example page, everything else is categorised by the legend. Hmm, how could I write something to _say_ things from…? I'll have to think about it."

"I'm sure you'll work it out," Heather reassured him.

Astrid was just keen to get started, she'd set her mind on the task and wanted to dive into it. There was also that if she'd been able to talk to Hiccup before… Well, no sense dwelling on it. "Anything else we need to know?"

"Not really," he said absently, dropping into the chair and rubbing his eyes. "Just start with the body language, it's enough to get by with. The verbal stuff is… well, if you can work it out on your own we'll officially induct you into the Ingerman clan."

She snorted. Like _that_ was going to happen. "Thanks, Fish. We'll make sure to have the book back to you in a few days."

"Three, at the latest," he clarified as he stretched. It was usually a safe assumption that he'd been ears-deep in a book for the last few hours, but that was quite clear today. "Oh, er, Astrid, I don't think I said this before… but thanks for… helping out when… you know, in the storehouse…"

Astrid grinned at him. "No worries Fishlegs, you'd have done the same. Just take it easy, okay?" She picked up the book and casually waved goodbye as she left, Heather catching up a few moments later.

They found a nice spot overlooking the village, sheltered from the wind and with good light to see by. Learning from books wasn't Astrid's favourite method, but sometimes she couldn't be picky. And there was something different about this… Strategy, battle, Chiefing, these were things that had been refined over generations. Dragonese was new, and it felt raw and untested; this was most evident when they came across words that did not have a translation, just a blank space to be filled in later. It gave her some measure of understanding of why people strove to learn new things, things that nobody else knew. It was also reminiscent of the wild process of figuring out how to live with their dragons.

Learning in itself was normally strenuous and idle work, often boring to boot. Be told or shown something, then repeat it until it sinks in. She found herself enjoying this though, Heather was certainly a character and had her in fits of laughter trying to work out some words and attempting a basic sentence. Not that Astrid was much better at times, particularly when Heather suggested a game of one of them trying to say something and the other trying to guess it.

Astrid felt that if she was going to be Chief, she should speak the language of _all_ her people. Still, as they read and talked she couldn't help but wonder how it would change her perception of the Furies. They were just so cute and cuddly it was hard to see them as anything else. There was a _slight_ hope they'd fill her in on their secret, but after the talk following the incident… she thought it unlikely. At least she'd be prepared next time something happened.

* * *

"Why you eat that?" Dreamer cocked his head at Wanderer, who was awkwardly munching on some small spiky leaves.

"Smell good. Eat thing if smell good," he said with a shrug of his wings.

Padding over, Dreamer put his nose to what was left of the small plant, but it just smelled prickly. Certainly not good for eating. "I think you fly with tail bent."

"Hrrr, I fly better than you fly."

Dreamer tackled him with a playful roar, going straight for his neck but snapping down on nothing. A tail collided with his left flank and he stumbled, but quickly regained his balance using his own tail and darted aside from the follow-up lunge. It left them side-by-side, and he spun to snap at the exposed neck again.

His friend reared back out of the way, preparing to strike with a flash of teeth–

–

He was on his back with those same teeth pressed gently into his bared throat. Blinking himself out of his daze and fighting down the discomfort in his gut, Dreamer rose to his paws and gingerly gave himself a shake with the wound in his leg aching dully.

He sat and sullenly pawed the ground under the weight of Wanderer's frustration, evident though he tried to hide it. _Maybe I just need to know more… Get more practise… I'll talk to him about it when my leg heals_. He half-faked a yawn and rubbed his face with the back of his paw. "Tired. We sleep? Hrrr… I remember you sleep hanging from tail. We do?"

Wanderer warbled and inspected the canopy. "Yes, we do. This good night."

It was a very good night, Dreamer had to agree, if still a little short. At least they were getting longer again, but then they would probably return to the village before long and would be sleeping through them. It was funny, he'd always loved the quiet and peace of night, the only problem usually being seeing what he was doing which was no longer a problem, but now he did enjoy the warmth of the sun. _I wonder how big we need to get before we can sleep in broad daylight…_

A quiet scuff caught his attention and he realised Wanderer was already halfway up the nearest tree. He rolled his eyes at himself, _still a dreamer_, and started the climb up. He noticed he had to dig his claws in a lot harder this time, which he found very awkward due to how long they were. Hrrr, he _had_ been neglecting them quite a bit, and even now he was hunting again had only bothered to make sure they were sharp. He'd need to spend some time – no, _go back_ to grinding his claws every day. Had he really been forgetting something so basic? _Stupid_.

Above him, Wanderer scurried out under a thick branch and deftly dropped to hang from his tail. Dreamer was a little unsure if his leg would hold him, but gingerly lowering weight to hang from it he found it to be only uncomfortable, and he stalked out next to him. It was a good spot, high from the ground and protected by a web of branches.

The first and last time he'd tried this, it hadn't gone well; this time he would do better. He snaked his tail around the branch, feeling its tug on his claws, then took a deep breath… and let go.

Sudden weightlessness was a sensation he was very familiar with, so why was his heart hammering in his chest? He quickly straightened his face when he saw Wanderer's amused expression, then used his wings to stop his swaying. _I'm going to practise this when you aren't looking…_

Wanderer swung over to give him a lick on the shoulder, then wrapped himself in a cocoon of wings. Dreamer extended his own wings and inspected them, comparing them to the bundle next to him, and carefully tucked them around himself. He quickly found he could overlap the wrists behind his neck, then leaning his head back into them almost locked them together. He needed to do next to nothing to maintain the position, anyway, other than hold his tail firm so it did not slip off.

Rrmm, this was very comfortable. Wrapped in his own little world, breathing his own scent. Very little of him touching anything else. Swaying gently with the wind. His hearing remained sharp, as it usually did when sleeping somewhere unfamiliar, but he was quickly greeted by the blissful feeling akin to the blinking of an enormous eyelid over his mind as he dozed on and off. He almost slipped off the branch a few times, though only jolted himself awake once, and all too soon he felt the light of the su–… _sky-fire_ warming his back.

It was enough for Wanderer apparently, as Dreamer was distantly aware of rustling and movement on the branch. _Nooo… A little longer…_ Something brushed against the outside of his wings, but he ignored it. _I sleep now… catch up later…_

A light pressure lifting his dangling tail got his attention, and he found the energy to partially unfurl. He eyed Wanderer, who eyed him back expectantly with his paw frozen under the tail still draped over the branch.

"…You not…"

A toothy smile crept across his friend's face, prompting him to fling himself up and grab hold of the branch in a panic. _Nnggg, so much for more sleeping…_ He groggily blinked his weary eyes and yawned widely, the fog in his mind quickly engulfing the small burst of adrenaline.

This was definitely a not-night to be lazy.

With a second yawn, he climbed up onto the branch and cleaned his face. "We should get water."

"Yes, water good. We swim also?"

_Sure, why not._ "Yes."

They flew low through the treetops to the cove and alighted on the soft grass from where they slaked their thirst before slipping into the water. The cold helped to revitalise Dreamer's mind while they lazily looped around each other in the small and muffled realm.

For the first time on their break from the village, Dreamer allowed himself to think about what had happened to them, to him. The calm water pressing on his ears and gliding over him almost created a divide, a separate world from which he could look back objectively. He didn't hate or begrudge the woman who had attacked them and almost carved a slice off his thigh, but it had been painful to start thinking about and he'd kept shutting it out despite knowing that was not a good way to deal with things

Probably what had him most shaken out of everything was how shaken Wanderer had been afterwards. Dreamer had long ago promised to be his safe place, and he had been without hesitation, but in this particular matter he felt he needed to be the strong one to support them both through it. This meant he couldn't retreat to his own safe place, or just shut down, as it would worry his friend and cause a negative loop.

And Wanderer's… other problem. He'd only said that it was a torturous memory of pain and uncertainty, but Dreamer remembered what had happened. The impact that killed him – or would have – had to have broken Wanderer's wings and left a horrible mess of them both. He had some quite vivid ideas of the more torturous aspects his friend had alluded to, particularly considering what had happened after taking down their first boar.

In hindsight, this was really what was gnawing at him. Yes, the woman had been cruel, but so had many others in Dreamer's life and he found himself only pitying her. More than anything he just wanted the chance to show her she was wrong, and to heal the hate in her heart. In everyone's hearts. He wanted to show everyone that dragons were kind and amazing creatures, _especially_ now that he was one himself, and have everyone living together in peace. And not just on Berk, but the whole Archipelago, and maybe he'd even be able to address whatever'd had Johann so spooked.

But that was all a long way off. Right now he was content with letting the other tribes see how successful Berk could be with just a few dragons, which was perfect as he had a lot of growing to do. Mentally as well, he now knew, he was struggling to think of the other tribes as more than the two or three people he knew from each.

He surfaced for his first breath of air and let himself float on his back, waterlogged wings splayed out to either side. Wanderer went for a more dramatic surfacing, shooting from the water and catching himself in a low hover with that majestic spray pittering down around him. He only hung there for a few flaps before nosediving back into the lake.

Hmm, but there was still damage to Berk that had yet to heal, it seemed. How many others still held hate in their hearts? It had taken months for this woman to act, but why? He winced when he remembered that Dagur had apparently come for the Nightstrikers, some of the village might be blaming them for that. Or… would they? They were Vikings after all, most looked forward to a good fight.

He groaned. There were things about Vikings he still didn't understand. He couldn't help but think how eager he'd been to kill a dragon himself, but then he'd more been interested in the result than the action. How ignorant he had been.

Everything he could be doing to show people they were friendly and harmless, he'd been doing, and it wasn't enough. If only he could _talk_ to people, but Fishlegs would have to translate and they wouldn't trust it was the dragon talking. They certainly wouldn't be willing to learn Dragonese first.

So lost in his thoughts he was that he barely had the presence to suck in a breath when Wanderer dropped onto his belly and dragged him under.

_Grrr! I get you for that!_ He twisted upright and surged away, then rolled down into a tight loop. With hard kicks of his tail, fins straining to remain flat, he streaked through the water after the dark shape ahead of him. They weaved and twisted through the lake, struggling to grapple each other's slippery hide until eventually they dragged themselves from the water and collapsed on the bank.

The sky-fire was just high enough to reach them with its warm light, and they both purred loudly through their panting as it dried and warmed them after being in the cool water for so long. _It would be so easy to give in to this_, Dreamer thought mildly. _Not a care for the world, fly to some remote land and never look back_…

It was a wistful dream. He was in a unique position to right many of the wrongs in the world, and he would never be able to stop thinking about what he could have been able to do. Oh well. He could still enjoy these moments in between his quests.

He was dozing off again when Wanderer nudged him. "Hey. We fly to den now."

Grumbling back at him, Dreamer got to his paws. He would have preferred to sleep in the cozy light… but the cove was known to the village, and a reliable source of water for dragons.

They winged low over the treetops, swooping up and down with the lay of the land, two graceful shadows streaking across the island. It wasn't a particularly long flight, but they were both tired and weary from spending much of the light swimming and so it dragged on. Finally, the deeply familiar ridges and trees greeted them, and shortly after they swooped down and over their little beach. Dreamer flew directly through the mouth of the cave and alighted inside, immediately lamenting the loss of the warm light.

In moments he was bowled over and his leg accosted; he really should see this coming by now. The wound was now just an angry hot line along his flank, no longer rough and raw, the licking treatment did seem to be helping so he did not begrudge it. Not that licking was unpleasant. In fact…

He reached up to grab Wanderer around the neck and pull him down with him, and they were suddenly a purring tangle of legs, wings, tails, and tongues. The den did not feel so cold then.

* * *

For a long time, hunting had just been something to do when fish became boring. Now that he was hatched again, Wanderer found his thoughts slipping away from the quarry and back to lessons shown to him long ago. How to hide in the shadows, how to move without sound, when to pounce and where to strike. Every action had an echo in his memories.

_Slow breaths, slow life-beats, little hunter._

He watched the tall-land-prey from the shadows as it grazed warily.

_For hunt alone, need patience. But for two, hunt is easier._

An innocuous rustle grabbed the quarry's attention and it turned away.

_Be silent, know your steps before you walk them._

He eyed the prey as he stalked forwards, slowly, deliberately, seeing pawprints he hadn't yet made in the grass.

_Closer is better, but try chase before your prey flees. Feel your body when it says chase._

An ear twitched towards him. Strength surged in his legs and he leapt forward without hesitation, raking deeply into the quarry's leg and shredding its muscles. The prey tried to bound away, but its leg nearly collapsed under it and it stumbled.

_Fastest kill is biting its throat. All prey have weak throats._

The prey couldn't get up to speed, and he was already running. He threw his wings forward as he hit the ground, then launched himself high and onto its back where he could sink his teeth into its neck, easily shredding through the fur and flesh.

_Dam! I caught you!_

Instead of meeting his dam's purring laughter and warm embrace, the quarry dropped under him and he tumbled to the ground. Tufts of fur stuck between his teeth, and as he scrambled to his paws he quickly sheathed them and licked his gums clean, then pushed them out again to swiften the prey's death.

"Good hunt!" Dreamer chirped as he bounded over. "But no chase. Chase good also. Wrrr, not matter. Hungry."

Wanderer purred and gave him a brief nuzzle, then they set about the task of pulling the fur away to reach the tasty meat under it.

The memories were an itch inside him he could not scratch. His small body was crying out for family, for adult Nightstrikers to shelter and protect it, to nuzzle and care for it. The memories were not painful, and he was very warmed by what he had now… but it was like stepping from the blissfully warm heat of the sky-fire to the moderate warmth of a good den. He was cold by comparison. _Hrr, but I never want life be different._ He and Dreamer were a perfect match, and they would one day find mates and fill their nest with little ones of their own.

He wondered what it was like for Dreamer, who never knew anything resembling a Nightstriker sire or dam, and from what he could gather barely anything resembling a Long-Paw sire or dam either. Perhaps not all his bad thoughts over the last few seasons had been bad Long-Paw thinking… _It will be better for you, for us both_, he promised.

Sound pricked his ears as his first mouthful slipped down his throat, and he raised his head to listen. At the second wingbeat, he was running for the cover of the nearby foliage where he had been stalking the prey from. He didn't need to say anything, Dreamer was already running with him.

They darted into the undergrowth, and Wanderer spun to peek out at their catch. He would not risk his life for it, but he was still hungry and wouldn't just abandon it for no reason. His caution proved warranted as a large Fire-Scale descended with great wingbeats between the trees, then wasted no time in tearing the prey in half and swallowing it.

Dreamer whimpered sadly beside him, but the Fire-Scale was apparently not done. It put its nose to the ground and crept forward a step.

It looked straight at them.

Wanderer spun and ran. He could hear Dreamer right behind him, but thankfully there was no bellow of challenge or the crashing of an ungainly Fire-Scale pulling itself after them. _No, it not do that, they not good runners_… It would be following from the sky… He turned sharply and sped up, heading for a patch of dense trees they could escape into. He didn't dare look up, to take his eyes away from the obstacles streaking past him, just kept his ears sharp for any sound of pursuit.

The trees ahead seemed a little sparse, and he angled around what turned out to be a small clearing. The sound of an aborted dive spurred him on.

_Remember … only if need … your cycles now, survive again … small body, no fire._

Wanderer tried to clear his head and focus on his flight from the wing-hunter. _I not need your lesson now, Sire_… How was this hunter following them? _Stupid_, he'd been recklessly crashing through the undergrowth like a scared prey-thing. He changed direction again, dropping his speed to a silent lope and hearing Dreamer do the same behind him. He zigzagged a path to safety, and finally hopped into the dense patch of growth that no adult wing-hunter could hope to enter.

They trotted to a halt and stood there on the uneven roots, panting heavily and scanning the specks of sky through the thick canopy. They saw and heard it pass overhead a few times before it gave up and loudly flapped away.

Dreamer gave a frustrated hiss. "It eat your catch."

"Yes. But not eat us." He huffed. "It have bad hunting for want hunt us."

_Huff_. "We could show it nest with much food and no hunger."

"It take food it see, not promise it not can see." Wanderer let out a quiet hiss. "Not go near hungry hunter you not can fight."

Dreamer wilted a little. "That… I see that good thinking…" Wanderer snorted in amusement. How can thinking be seen? Silly Long-Paw expression. "…I still hungry…"

"Yes, I also," Wanderer grumbled. He was weary and tense from their escape but their bellies were practically empty, they should find a meal before sleeping.

"…Nest with much food and no hunger…?"

Wanderer didn't flinch at the suggestion, to his own surprise. His Dreamer watched him hopefully, evidently struggling between wanting to return to his nest and considering Wanderer's own wants. He sighed, they _had_ been out here for over a whole sky-ice-cycle now, and it was only supposed to be a temporary reprieve from the Long-Paws…

"…Yes," he eventually conceded. "We go back to nest."

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_Whew, it's been a productive week. A change to my work hours has also left me with more time and significantly more energy which has helped considerably. I may even be able to post next week, but if not then it will be the last break for now._

_I should also point out that you are running out of time to get your theories in, this part of the arc will soon bust wide open.__  
_


	14. Treason

Skirting the northern edge of the fishing grounds, Brenna's boat easily pulled through the waves. She put up the appearance of fishing, though in reality there was little room in her hold now. Several times one of the despicable dragon riders wheeled overhead, but took no interest in her Hooligan fishing boat on Hooligan waters.

It had been a harrowing month, the journey taking longer than expected due to some bad weather and then spending a few days in a cell. Another storm had created delays on the way back, but for a completely different reason. _Idiots_. Well, they were here now.

The boat went unchallenged on its way to the island, just as planned, and disappeared into the shadows of the channel through it. She quickly swung around to moor against a low outcrop of rock, just low enough to climb up onto.

At a trio of stamps on the deck, activity exploded from the hold.

* * *

_Anyone? Hellooo?_ Dreamer wheeled in the air above Berk, Wanderer wheeling opposite him, and while there were people pointing up at them from below they were yet to spot any of the teens or their dragons. Then again, he supposed Astrid and Fishlegs would be busy with something, and who knew what the twins did with their time.

His stomach grumpily made its displeasure known and he became impatient, so with a sharp bank he angled himself out over the docks to see if any hauls were being brought in. He was surveying the situation below when an enthusiastic shout caught his ears – Barf and Belch had emerged from the forest and were heading for them with a distinctive pair of blonde teens waving from the dragon's necks. The two heads even looked pleased to see them, grinning and croaking happily as they approached.

Dreamer had to duck out of the way as the three – four? – of them shot through the air he'd previously been occupying, and they all swooped and soared around each other for a few minutes. Until his stomach made another loud complaint, at which point he gnashed his teeth a few times at Tuffnut and they all glided down to the docks.

There was a single burly man carrying in his haul who found himself distracted by Ruffnut while Tuffnut thoughtfully lightened the load of the two barrels he was carrying. He was still none the wiser when he was allowed to proceed. Both Furies bounded forward and snapped up their fish, making short work of them and purring as the ache in their bellies subsided.

"Woar, hungry littel guys," Ruffnut remarked.

Tuffnut grinned. "Yeah, but little Hiccy's looking _heaps_ better. In fact…" He pounced at Dreamer, knocking him over and lightly scratching at his belly. "You're almost tubby now! _Tubby Fury!_"

A squeal escaped Dreamer's throat as he tried to kick away the offending hands that darted for his ticklish spots, somehow sneaking through the dangerous zone of claws and teeth. "Help!" he implored as Wanderer's head appeared above him.

Wanderer's response was to give him a toothy grin and start snapping at his frills. Dreamer automatically threw his paws up to bat him away – and was promptly assaulted again by Tuffnut. _Traitor!_ Dreamer screeched manically as he squirmed and thrashed against the dual attack, then managed to throw himself to his paws and dart behind Ruffnut's legs from where he growled at his attackers.

"Yeahr! That wasn't fayr!" Ruffnut barked. _Yeah you tell them!_ She looked down at him with a broad grin and lunged at her brother, dropping and pinning him in short order.

Dreamer grinned widely and took his time padding over, sitting down just inside Tuffnut's field of vision and taking a moment to inspect his claws.

"Oh no, no, not the claws, ahah, nonono, hahaha, help! Help meeee!" He struggled and laughed breathlessly as Ruffnut held him down and Dreamer prodded and raked at his belly, wary of his fragile skin. Wanderer sat off to the side, probably not wanting to get involved now that Ruffnut was in the fray. "Why me…" the teen gasped as the revenge relented.

_Oh he's getting some too, don't worry_... Dreamer casually padded over to the bigger Nightstriker, giving him a purr and a nuzzle. Wanderer was suspicious, but still not quite fast enough to avoid a wet lick up the back of his ear. He yelped and dropped to the ground, pawing at his head and rolling around to a bizarre chorus of human, Fury, and Zippleback laughter.

Dreamer had missed this.

His ears pricked at the telltale thrumming of Meatlug's wings, but he was immediately distracted by Wanderer tackling him. He was sure to hold his ears firmly against his neck, wriggling and batting so as to not give his attacker a chance to pry one loose.

Fishlegs' happy shouts as Meatlug landed distracted Wanderer long enough for Dreamer to kick him off and escape, and he took a moment to clean up the soggy mess over his head and neck and give himself a shake.

"Hey," Fishlegs barked to get his attention after a few Norse words of welcome that Dreamer had chosen not to decipher. "You come? See thing." He then said something quietly to the twins, who hurried onto Barf and Belch and flew away. Something was _definitely_ strange there…

Dreamer cocked his head curiously at Fishlegs, but he just hopped onto Meatlug and took to the air looking very excited. The two Nightstrikers shared a confused and curious look before leaping up after him. They were led over to the training ring, but Fishlegs didn't descend into it. Instead, he dropped into a hover next to the cliff a short way above it and beckoned madly, face a wild mix of impatience and excitement.

Slowing into a hover, Dreamer's eyes went wide and his frills stood out as a shallow indent in the rock became visible, only recently carved judging by some of the rough edges, and just about tall enough for maybe Spitelout to stand in. And then his mouth hung open as he drifted closer and discovered it wasn't shallow at all, curving into the rock in a way that couldn't be easily seen from outside. "For us?" he asked incredulously, barely waiting for Fishlegs' eager nodding before throwing himself inside.

It smelled heavily of rock dust, definitely recently carved out, and distantly of sweat which would be replaced before long. The ground was a strange texture, the roughly hewn rock having been hammered smooth but not yet feeling worn and sealed. He approvingly noted that there was a very gentle incline into the cave so that it would not collect and trap rain.

In the back of the cave there was maybe about enough room for an adult Fury to stretch out without wings or tail touching the walls or being visible from outside. It would be cozy for the two of them fully grown, but that might not be a bad thing and if necessary it could be expanded.

But most of all, it was completely inaccessible except through the air, and most other dragons would have difficulty navigating inside.

It was perfect.

Wanderer evidently thought so as well, as he was busily rubbing his cheek against the edge of the wall at the entrance. After a moment of thought, Dreamer did the same on the other side.

"Sso yoo lai' it 'en?" Fishlegs called over Meatlug's wingbeats. Dreamer responded by bounding excitably in a circle. "'Ood! Ca' to 'e ate ohr ah ssar'ow'!"

"…What?" He pawed at an ear.

Fishlegs rolled his eyes. "Come, rock-nest, sky-fire…" He scratched his head, then pointed at the ocean, and Dreamer managed to fill in the blanks – _come to the Great Hall at sundown_.

"Yes," he chuffed. _Probably a feast or something. Vikings, any excuse to drink and eat_… _Not that I'm arguing…_

"…His words not get better…" Wanderer mused as the Gronckle flew off.

"No," Dreamer laughed, before setting about the very important task of rolling around the new den.

It was still a few hours before dusk, but the time passed quickly. They explored every inch of the cave with their noses, stopping occasionally to overwrite an offending scent, then practised flying in and out for the fun of it before spending some time chasing each other around and more rolling about. It all smelled of Nightstriker by the time the sky-fire neared the ocean.

"You Rock-Scale now!" Dreamer laughed.

Wanderer, now a matte grey colour, imparted his offense to this notion with a sharp bite to the ear. "We should clean. Grass or swim?"

"Sweet-grass?" Dreamer chirped jokingly as he licked the side of his paw to rub his hurt ear with. "Hrrr, I think both."

"Both good," Wanderer agreed. "Race!"

Dreamer forgot about his ear and scrabbled after him, leaping from the new den and straining to catch up. Nimble though he was, Wanderer was faster in a straight line and easily remained ahead for the flight to the cove. Dreamer dropped straight into the lake, but Wanderer landed in the shallows to keep an eye and ear out for the wild Fire-Scale.

Taking it in turns to keep watch, they had to work the dust off their scales and alternated a few times between the lake and the grass. Dreamer was acutely aware of the sun going down, but the dust was proving resilient. _Grr_, this was going to be an annoying aspect of the new den for a while, though it was worse on this occasion due to their antics.

After finishing the job for each other and ensuring they were shiny and black again – if somewhat damp – they made their way back to the village with the remnants of the sky-fire visible over the water. Just in time.

Dreamer dropped down in front of the doors of the Great Hall, a subdued murmur of a crowd audible from inside, but was caught off-guard by Wanderer's cautious hiss. He spun in surprise to see his friend with his eyes narrowed tensely at the structure.

"…I good," Wanderer growled, "I not can not trust every den…" But the steps he took were uncertain.

Dreamer hopped back and pressed his neck to his friend's. "No Long-Paw attack us in there. Trust me."

"I trust you," Wanderer nuzzled back, then strode forward more confidently. Dreamer gave his wings a few happy shakes before following.

A hushed silence settled over the hall as they entered. The crowd parted for them to approach the slightly raised section that held the Chief's table, at which his sire was sat in his big chair at the head and the teens down the length of it. _Okaaay_…_ Getting weird_… Stoick eagerly beckoned them up, and the two Nightstrikers shared a nervous look. Not wanting to prolong this awkward scene, Dreamer flapped over and took his place on the comfortably raised seat at the table with Wanderer joining him a moment later. Astrid looked even more excited than Fishlegs and the twins, who beamed at him.

_Wait… This is…_

"Hooleegahns!" Stoick shouted suddenly, interrupting Dreamer's thoughts and making Wanderer jump. He then spoke, his great voice easily carrying across the hall while barely as much as being raised. "This is an unusual night, but we live in unusual times. I know this will be hard, Odin knows it was for me, but we need a change of thinking. The days of killing and being killed by dragons are _over_. We've lived in peace with them for nearly two years now.

"But it's clear that _some_ are having trouble letting go of the old ways. Now, we are _Vikings_, our stubbornness has seen us through some dark times, and I don't expect you all to suddenly make friends, but if you must distrust and hate then _keep it to yourself_."

Dreamer took a moment to glance around the hall, easily able to pick out expressions from the light of the fire and torches. Most were pensive, there were a few who wore scowls or frowns but nobody seemed outright rebellious. Not while in a crowd in front of their Chief, anyway.

"I don't need to remind you all what happened. I like to think none here would repeat that treasonous offense, but it's clear there must be precautions. Therefore!"

Fishlegs waved to get their attention, then crudely translated the next part into Dragonese.

"I am officially extending hospitality to these two Night Furies as honoured guests for the foreseeable future!"

"Nest need think good you now. Much bad for nest if attack you."

Dreamer understood the implications. Going against the Chief's word was treason, but breaking hospitality would reserve a special place in Hel for the offender regardless of the circumstances. He'd never expected that to encompass a dragon though, and the crowd was similarly unsure of how to take it. A murmur of surprise and curiosity was prevalent, but there were undertones of unease and discontent. He managed to temper his own reaction of outright shock to a moderate surprise – silently thanking Fishlegs for thinking to translate as it was said – but was further thrown off as all the teens subtly leaned forward with their elbows out in a show of _welcome_. Even Snotlout, who he'd being ignoring so far, though he held a curiously flat expression.

"Andd nao!" Stoick shouted a little louder than was necessary. "Llet us ffeasst!"

A horde of footsteps announced servers bringing in endless trays of foods, the smells instantly filling the hall and sending both Nightstrikers into uncontrollable drooling. The Chief's table was of course the first to be served and was piled high with food in short order, and as honoured guests the Nightstrikers had first pick. Which was good because Wanderer wasn't waiting for _anybody_ to quickly – but still neatly – tear into a whole roast chicken.

The atmosphere quickly transitioned from tense to impatient and then more slowly to jovial as the tables were gradually filled with food and drink. Stoick certainly knew how to deal with Vikings, hit them with some big news and then feed them until they pass out. Hmm, the same probably applied to dragons, come to think of it, but maybe with sweet-grass instead of ale. Dreamer giggled at the vision of an all-dragon feast in which sweet-grass was suddenly brought out for everyone.

"Hey!" came an excited chirp in a much higher voice than Fishlegs', and both Furies looked up to see Astrid almost ready to explode from excitement. "You have good hunting?"

Dreamer's ears and frills stood on end while he stared, and it took him a few moments to find his own words. "Yes! We eat much. But not _this_ much." He gestured to the food in front of him before downing a whole smoked fish.

Astrid bounced in her seat, and Dreamer had little doubt that if there had not been a table full of food in the way she would be all over them. The excitement was contagious and his tail wagged happily. "You go where? We not see you," she asked.

"We Nightstrikers," Wanderer huffed, and Astrid and Fishlegs laughed.

"How your leg?" she asked Dreamer in a more serious tone.

It'd been a while since he'd needed to talk like a dragon fledgling. Thankfully he was more practised this time, and spending time in the wild had helped too. "Not hurt now, I fast again!" He bit Wanderer's ear. "Faster than you!"

Wanderer growled and batted him away. "I stronger than you. Bigger also." He puffed his chest out proudly.

"I think better." He stretched his tail around to tickle at Wanderer's opposite flank, then when he growled at it and batted it away Dreamer pinched the mutton leg he'd been eating. Everyone, including Stoick, burst out laughing. Wanderer looked around at them in confusion, then narrowed his eyes at Dreamer's toothy grin – oblivious to what was in his claws – and went to return to his dinner. Which was no longer there. Dreamer gave him an innocent look and offered him the bare bone back.

"I get you for this…" he muttered, selecting a rack of ribs to pick apart as everyone continued laughing.

Stealing the food reminded Dreamer of something. "Hungry Fire-Scale on small-land this light, try eat us" he said to Fishlegs, then snorted at seeing his and Astrid's expressions. "_Try_ eat us. We fast! But I faster." Wanderer growled at him and he grinned back.

"What? What happened?" Tuffnut asked.

"Yeahrr, wll sumwun fill us inn hhere?" Ruffnut echoed.

"They were chassed by a Nightmare onn 'he island," Astrid explained.

"Hah, yeah, like a Nightmare could catch a Fury," Tuffnut smirked.

Stoick stroked his enormous beard. "Nightmares arr aggressive, but I've never heard of them attakking other dragons."

"Theyy will if thair hungry enuff, apparenttly," Fishlegs explained. "They're normally prtty good huntrrs though, it masst be injured or something."

"An injurred and aggressive drahgon on the ayland… Can you take care of it?" Stoick rumbled.

"Yessir."

Dreamer chirped at Fishlegs. "Fire-Scale very hungry. Take much food. Also take rock-head, also his Fire-Scale, maybe help."

"Rock… Hayy, watt'd yoo corll me!?" Snotlout barked.

Dreamer rolled his eyes and turned – then sat bolt upright. Everyone else gaped at him as well, except for Fishlegs who just winced.

Snotlout himself sat there rigidly while everyone stared at him. "…Yeah, okkay, fair pointt…" he murmured, then took a deep breath. "I… sorry… for… fight… you," he said awkwardly in Dragonese.

Dreamer stared at him blankly while his mind processed that, the silence of the table emphasising the casual din from the rest of the hall. He eventually managed a small nod, and a grin. Who would have thought? And why? He shot Fishlegs a glance to tell him he would be explaining later, but the teen just shrugged with a confused frown and a shake of his head.

"Well that'ss just _greatt_," Tuffnut's grumpy voice broke the silence. "Am I the only one who can't talk to them now?"

"Uhh, no suppraizes here, I can'tt eithrr," Ruffnut grumbled back at him.

"You don't count."

"Yoo _can'tt_ cownt!" They loudly locked helmets but backed down at a warning grunt from Stoick.

"I see you've all been very busy," Stoick rumbled. "Good for you, the more people who can talk to them, the better. Looks like you twins have your work cut out for you."

Dreamer caught sight of Heather approaching in the corner of his eye and watched her attend the table, refilling drinks and taking orders. No sense of familiarity now, at least no more than from meeting her after the battle with the Berserkers. But then she leaned over the table to take the empty jug by Stoick and he caught a whiff of her scent, that memory tickling his mind again. Now he was more attuned to his senses… he remembered it… among foliage and undergrowth…?

She then turned to him and Wanderer. "You want more food?" she asked primly in Dragonese. _Wait, is everyone a linguist now? What _happened_ while we were gone!?_ He stared at her dumbly while Wanderer asked for some water.

This was going to be much trickier now, he realised, they would have to really watch what they said where others could observe. That meant getting more into the dragon mindset in general – or rather, just staying in it at this point. He gave a little shake to clear his head and eyed the remains on the table. _Actually, some of those ribs would go down really well right now…_

* * *

Astrid was leaned over the table with her head laying on her arm, smiling at the pair of Furies somehow collapsed on top of each other as they dozed. Hiccup's head was laying across Toothy's paws, and Toothy's head was stretched over Hiccup's neck. Other than that, it was difficult to tell which leg or wing belonged to which Fury.

The hall echoed with the snores of those too stubborn to go home but not stubborn enough to stay awake. A few of the hardcore feasters were still quietly chatting, munching on the dregs of the food trays and draining the last barrel of mead, but mostly it was very peaceful. At the Chief's table, only she and the Furies remained, though the twins were busy Loki'ing anyone who had fallen asleep. The rest had left.

She really should go home to bed, but she just couldn't take her eyes off the sight in front of her. She wanted to hug them and squeeze them so badly, but even if she were so bold she wouldn't be able to bring herself to disturb them. The most she'd done was try to take the bone Toothy was still chewing on, but he'd growled and refused to let go without even opening an eye.

How could _anyone_ want to hurt these precious little creatures? She could see the mark on Hiccup's leg, healing rapidly but still an angry line that would probably be with him for the rest of his life. Well, that was probably for the best, humans could be very cruel and he would be wise to be reminded of that. Let distrust be his first instinct.

Hiccup shuffled a little, and she melted all over again as one of the wings awkwardly jutting out straightened and wrapped around them both, and contented purring reached her ears. She could just lay here and watch them all night… Oh, she already had, there was a dim glow of sunlight shining in from the front door.

As much as she wanted to just fall asleep there and then she'd rather wake up in her own bed. It did not escape her notice that Toothy's ears twitched the moment she lifted her head. "Hey," she whispered to the pair, "come on guys, you should go to bed too." She gently stroked Hiccup's head until he stirred and looked at her blearily. _How to say this…?_ "_You, den_," she said in Dragonese. He'd get the message.

He blinked at her slowly, those huge green eyes so reminiscent of Toothless', then nudged his brother to something resembling awake. They both yawned widely and dragged themselves to their paws, then stumbled across the table. She grimaced as Hiccup gave her a small lick on the way past, and lethargically tried to wipe it off as they hopped into the air and disappeared behind her. The stuff stuck to her skin like oil, gross.

She pulled herself to her feet with a sigh and staggered to the door, blinking at the early morning light. Just a couple hours' sleep and she'd be good to go. She was so busy dreaming about her soft, plump pillow that she nearly didn't see the figure sat on the ledge by the steps from the hall. "Snotlout…?"

Snotlout straightened, but continued staring down into the village; a beautiful sight as it glowed in the dawn. "Oh, hey Astrid."

…Strange. He'd been strange a lot lately. Pushing her weariness back, she walked over and sat next to him. He looked like Hel had got bored of waiting and decided to come to him instead. "Not that I'm complaining, but you usually have a bit more to say than 'hey Astrid'."

"…Yeah. I'm a real jerk aren't I." It wasn't a question.

"Why'd you do it, anyway?"

"I dunno. I was stupid. I don't even remember why it bugged me so much when he came instead of Toothy, and I just–"

"No, not that." _That_ was what was on his mind? Usually he barely even thought about things _once_. "Learn Dragonese. It's not really like you. I'm kind of worried, you've been pretty weird lately."

"…Oh. You want to know why I'm so scared of my dad?"

_Not really_. Spitelout was merciless, and in some ways she did pity Snotlout for his lot in life, even if he brought the rest of it on himself. "He doesn't hit you does he?"

"Gods, I wish. Some bruises, I put on a tough guy act for a few days, and it's back to normal. But no. When I was twelve, I said some really stupid things to Mum. He didn't get angry with me, didn't shout or anything. No, what does he do? Makes me learn sewing."

Astrid couldn't help but burst out laughing. She had the most ridiculous image in her head of Snotlout fumbling with a needle and threat as Spitelout sternly stood over him.

"Yeah, I laughed too. Like he could make me learn anything, right? But then he learns it himself, and takes it on himself to 'fix' my clothes."

"Wait, was that when you were running around with that third trouser leg? Oh man that was so funny… The twins must have thought it was their birthday."

"Ugh, don't remind me. But yeah, every time I screw something up, he makes me learn something about it. No shortcuts." He took a long, deep breath.

This was… a side of Snotlout that Astrid had never seen before. Not vulnerable, but… raw, bare. He was being straightforward with her, and she wasn't _completely_ repulsed by what she saw. Before she knew what she was doing, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, dropped down to the ground, and began walking home with a wave but not a so much as a glance back.

Snotlout slowly raised a hand to his cheek as he watched her go.

* * *

The village was its usual bustling self, the same as it had been for the last few days. Some people were walking up it, some walking down it, and some were not walking at all. Just like yesterday.

Dreamer idly flicked his tail over the roof he was perched on and watched Wanderer fly low through the streets a few more times to burn off some energy. They'd all but grounded themselves with the aggressive Nightmare still at large, there'd been some sightings but even with Fishlegs, Snotlout and Astrid scouring the island there were just too many places to check. It wouldn't come near the Viking settlement but it might be tempted if they flew high enough, so their flights were tense and brief rather than the relaxing sojourns they were used to. He groaned. If he was this antsy now, winter was going to be a real trial, especially as they were bigger so would have relatively less room to run around.

He now had a much better understanding of Wanderer's obsession with eating and growing, at least. It was a strange feeling for himself, strength was often something he had sorely wished for before becoming a Night Fury but assumed he'd never have, and now he would have more than any Viking could ever dream of. All he had to do was eat and wait.

Maybe Wanderer could teach him to fight… but the idea still twisted his stomach. _Tomorrow_, he promised himself. It was getting a bit late now, he was starting to get sleepy and Wanderer always woke very early.

"We go to den now?" he asked as Wanderer alighted on the roof next to him, panting and tired but still somehow buzzing. Dreamer could relate.

"Hrrr, yes. Still need much scent-making."

_Not quite what I had in mind, but alright…_

Dreamer fanned out his wings and hopped off the roof, soaring on the breeze that swept up the village, and drifted back towards their den. Wanderer pulled up next to him with what could only be described as an aerial flourish, a sort of half roll that put them at almost exactly wingtip to wingtip before tidily levelling out. Dreamer shot him a glare, receiving an apologetic grin back.

The den was so well hidden he still had trouble picking it out on the approach even after a few days, and he purred as he drifted over the training ring and it came into sight, but a strange noise caught his attention. Something cutting through the air, but in short motions, and repeatedly?

He had no time to think about it, Wanderer barked in alarm and darted to the side. Dreamer reacted without thinking, recognising the response to danger and banking sharply after his friend – then shrieked as something wove tightly around him and pinned a wing to his side. _A bola!_

There might have been time to ponder the how or why on the way down, but he was wildly scanning the ground and planning his landing. He couldn't afford to land on his wings, and the lessons Wanderer had drilled in long ago were taking hold. He twisted and used his free wing to angle, bracing himself…

Nothing could have fully prepared him for the inevitable impact with the hard rock. His shoulders hit first and shoved his breath from his lungs, and his momentum carried him into the expected roll. What he hadn't expected was the ropes of the bola painfully digging into the leading edge of his wing, and one of the rounded weights beating against his side. He skidded and bounced to a stop, then sucked in a breath and let out a pained wheeze.

He felt bruised from nose to tail, and his shoulder ached fiercely. He whimpered freely as the pain settled over him, unbearable at first and not in a hurry to abate. At least his shoulder didn't feel dislocated. He heard a few more bolas drop down around him, and there were voices, hushed shouts he couldn't make out. They were accented and unfamiliar.

The reality of it hit him. Someone wanted him out of the air and on the ground… which meant that was the last place he currently wanted to be. He struggled against the ropes, trying to figure out how they were wrapped around him so he could work them loose. Heavy footsteps sounded towards him, and he twisted to see – then felt his blood run cold as he stared into the mad eyes of Dagur the Deranged.

_You! Here! How!? Why!?_ His struggling became frantic and his breaths short and fast. He was all too aware of exactly what Dagur wanted, but the sadistic grin on his face… It pierced him with the horrific reality.

Dagur spared him no courtesies, turning and shouting with gestures up at the sky while he strode over to plant his boot firmly onto Dreamer's shoulder. He was completely trapped. His panic escalated to a new level and his body locked up. There was no sense in struggling. He completely forgot himself, forgot all reasoning, there was just instinct.

He drew in a deep breath, straining his chest against the ropes and the weight on him, and screeched louder than he'd ever screeched before.

* * *

"Come onnn, where are you?" Astrid scanned the forests below, hoping to catch sight of the elusive Nightmare that had been hanging around the island. It had been seen around the farms for a while, clearly hungry but not willing to approach the eel wards that had been set up.

The buzzing of Meatlug's wings could just be heard over the breeze as Fishlegs searched to her right, and on the other side of him Hookfang drifted lazily with Snotlout in the saddle. It was an ideal arrangement, if they could hear Meatlug's wingbeats then they could hear a call if someone found it, and with the Gronckle being the slowest flyer she had the least maximum distance to respond.

But then maybe the wingbeats were scaring the Nightmare off? They hadn't seen hide nor scale of it, and the last sighting had been nearly two days ago. Another day of searching and they'd have to conclude it'd left the island, unless and until it was sighted again.

And she had to admit… this was _boring_. Flying was amazing and all but they'd been doing the same thing for days now and it was just calm gliding, no stunts or aerial manoeuvres, no speed, no _thrill_. The pleasant calm of the peaceful flight had worn thin very quickly.

She was watching the sun slide towards the horizon when she felt Stormfly tense, her head jerking around with her spines rattling and standing stiff. Astrid didn't have a chance to ask or wonder, immediately recognising the disconnect between dragon and rider and throwing herself down to hold on for all she was worth.

The turn came close to prying her arms loose, and the saddle creaked but mercifully held firm. She cracked her eyes open to peer back over her shoulder, seeing Hookfang flying just as fervently but falling behind, and Meatlug naught but a speck in the distance. She couldn't make out Fishlegs, but Snotlout was still on Hookfang – barely.

_Think, rationalise. Can't see Meatlug, but Hookfang is reacting the same way, and flying in the same direction. Not after Stormfly, so reacting to the same thing. What could make a dragon react like this? A queen?_ She shuddered at the thought. _Unlikely, they weren't taken over when we fought the last one. That just leaves… danger. But are we flying towards it, or away from it?_

She peered back again and gulped at that she could no longer see Meatlug. _Towards, definitely towards…_ Hookfang was flying in the same direction, and they weren't slowing down. _Was I just complaining I was bored? Bored was good, I'd like to go back to being bored._

How long had they been flying like this? Moments. It seemed like they were heading back to the village, and they'd been a fair way out… it would be maybe twice as long again before they arrived. She tried to rub and tap Stormfly's neck, but her dragon ignored her. She had horrible thoughts of Berk under attack, in flames… but the idea didn't sit right. Stormfly loved the village, she was sure, but she couldn't reason what could happen to it for her to act this way.

Unless…

Ice crept down her back as she thought of what Stormfly held closest to her heart and was fiercely protective of, what Astrid herself felt the same towards. _No no no, not again!_ Her will aligned with her dragon's and they reconnected, Astrid urging her on for all the speed she could muster. It might not have been her imagination that the howling of the wind reached a new pitch.

Blind, she leaned into the turns as she felt Stormfly make them, and so was prepared for a sharp bank left and downwards with wings at an angle to brake against the wind. She was squeezed into the saddle by the rapid deceleration, and then they were in a slow but tense glide.

Astrid pried herself from her dragon's neck to drink in the scene below her. Six men stood in the viewing area by the training ring, five of them big and burly and surrounding an agitated Barf and Belch, the sixth noticeably smaller and hunched over a dark shape. Fire boiled in her blood, but she forced it aside to analyse. A shrill and panicked cry got her attention, and she snapped her head up to see the other Fury wheeling desperately above the scene.

How long until Hookfang arrived? Soon enough, but she needed to keep them occupied until then. She leaned to bring Stormfly lower, then had her twist in the air and her Nadder automatically followed through with a barrage of spines at the men around the Zippleback. It was quickly followed by a hissing sound and a _whump_, the men bracing and protecting themselves against the explosion but distracted enough for Stormfly to land on one with a sickening _crunch_. A jet of fire erupted at the nearest survivor, but the initial burn was blocked by a shield to give him time to dive away.

The twins' dragon was snared in a bola, and Astrid hurriedly dismounted with axe in hand to sever the ropes, then stood in front of the two dragons. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" she shouted.

"Astriiid, good to see you!" an overly cheerful voice called back. _No…_ "Always so _serious_, straight to the point. It's been, what, two years? Why don't we have a drink? It'd be great to catch up!"

She fought down the bile that rose in her throat and stared at Dagur, an axe in one hand and a shield in his other. The Fury under him stared at her pleadingly, struggling feebly against the ropes and the boot on his head. _Keep him talking_… "Sure, why not? What do you get up to these days?"

"You idiot, she's distracting you!" came a woman's hard voice. "Hurry up and get that other demon, and let's get out of here!" Astrid followed the source of the voice and bristled at seeing the traitor Brenna casually leaning against the rock wall by the path back to the village.

"You do NOT order ME AROUND!" Dagur shrieked at the despicable woman, thrusting his axe at her. "But you have a point. You!" He swung his axe to point it at Astrid. "Get that other Night Fury down here, _now_."

Astrid bared her teeth at him. "In your _dreams_ you lunatic."

Dagur's reply was to grin at her and lower the axe to press the point against Hiccup's head; twenty paces away and she still heard his fearful whimper. Before she could even think of a plan, a dark shape landed next to her and growled at him. "Huh, I guess you really do control them. But you can keep your magic, an axe always worked better for me HAHA! Take the Fury, kill the rest."

_Come ON Snotlout, where are you!?_ A bola whizzed towards Stormfly and Astrid swung her axe at it, slicing through the ropes and sending the weights careening away. A second bola was burned apart, the heat washing over Astrid as the flames passed her, and one of the Zippleback heads intercepted a third with its neck for the ropes to harmlessly wind around.

A stream of fire fell across the Berserkers, three reacting quickly enough but the fourth being bathed in liquid fire and going down in a writhing, screaming heap. Astrid dropped her axe and leapt at the Fury beside her to grab his tail and pull him back, wincing as the rock scraped her arms. Toothy, she now saw, spun and _snarled_ at her, and she saw all his fear and hatred in his eyes. All she could do was fervently shake her head at him.

It bought enough time for Hookfang to spin and unleash another jet of fire. Dagur leapt away, dragging Hiccup with him, but not fast enough to get the Fury out of the way. Astrid didn't have time to worry or lament as he was bathed in flames, the three remaining Berserkers were back on their feet and approaching swiftly.

She jumped to her feet and became a flurry of hand signals, those of the twins coming to her in the heat of the moment. _Fire at the middle one, a barrier of gas, spines at the one circling on the left, more gas towards the right one_ – she closed her eyes and snapped her fingers, bracing herself against the resulting explosion, then used the moment to retrieve and holster her axe.

The smoke cleared quickly revealing that the Berserkers were not yet out of the fight, but their shields were in bad condition. A wave of her hand had another wall of gas set up, and she held Stormfly's spines at the ready. She spared a glance at Dagur, struggling to hold on to a burning Fury as he thrashed and flicked globs of Nightmare fire in all directions. Seeing a chance, she signalled to Stormfly and a trio of spines the size of her forearm sang through the air at him, forcing him to leap back out of the way and away from Hiccup.

Hookfang then landed between the two and Snotlout dismounted, brandishing his axe at Dagur with his dragon hissing dangerously over his shoulder.

Astrid clicked her fingers again and took a few steps forward through the resulting inferno, further forcing Dagur's men back with a swathe of Nadder fire. A glance at Stormfly's spines showed she had about half left, that was good as she'd need to back Snotlout up against that lunatic. If he'd given Stoick trouble, there was _no way_ Snotlout could hold his own even with Hookfang.

But Dagur was clearly second guessing his position, deep in enemy territory with no backup, dwindling forces, and only so long before more Hooligans and dragons turned up. "_Fall back!_" he screeched, and the four survivors instantly bolted towards the narrow exit from the viewing area. Stormfly automatically fired after the closest, but it was blocked by his shield and didn't even slow him.

"What!? But you can't–!" Brenna started, still standing well out of the way of everything, as they rushed past her. There was little hesitation before she spun and followed them.

Astrid hesitated, torn between following and getting Hiccup free – but then Toothy was already chewing at the straps around his brother; the remains of the bola smouldered on the ground. "Come on!" she shouted at Snotlout and took chase, hopping onto Stormfly and launching into the air.

It was hard to tell how much gas Barf had left, being unfamiliar with the dragon, but Stormfly had one shot left at most and maybe only even half a shot. There also wasn't a guarantee the Berserkers didn't have any more bolas on them, using them all offensively would be stupid as would be assuming they had. She also didn't want to get in front of him, as he could turn back for the Furies, but couldn't split up either or they'd be overrun.

"There's no way we can stop them or take them!" Snotlout shouted as he pulled up next to her, echoing her own thoughts. "We'll just have to follow them from above and wait for backup!"

She nodded and watched the invaders flee into the trees, staying directly above them to keep line of sight while Snotlout and the riderless Zippleback circled, both dragons less suited to flying at low speeds. She lost sight of them a few times over the next couple of minutes, but Hookfang and Barf and Belch made small swoops to put her back on course.

And then, suddenly, they all lost them as they passed through a patch of denser trees. Astrid fumed as she made wide circles overhead, but could find no trace of them. It was at this point that Fishlegs joined them, thoroughly confused, but she didn't let him ask questions. "Berserkers on the island! Attacked the Furies! Saw them go into that thicket but not sure if they've left it! Stay here and watch it, follow if you see them but _stay back!_" She _had_ to set Stormfly down, the poor dragon was stumbling in the air and breathing heavily. Unlike Hookfang she couldn't just coast on her wings as much.

"Okay!" Fishlegs squeaked back and peered down at the trees below.

Astrid waved to Snotlout and they glided back, catching sight of a group on their way to the ring. Stoick's form was unmistakable, he was _exactly_ who she needed to see right now. "Chief!" she called as she pulled Stormfly closer.

"Astrid! What in Thor's name–"

"Berserkers on the island! Dagur is here!" She landed heavily in front of him. "We followed him into the forest but he lost us, Fishlegs is maintaining position where we last saw them. Here, take Stormfly, she can track him for you." She dismounted and took a few steps back. "_You follow?_" she asked.

"_Yes!"_ she said fiercely. _"He hurt Nightstrikers, I–_"

Astrid wasn't sure what her dragon said after that, but it looked and sounded _violent_. She put a hand to her snout before sending Barf and Belch back to get the twins, then turned to Snotlout while the party set off. "I'm going to go back and check on the Furies."

Hookfang snarled and flared his wings. "_I hunt,_" he hissed dangerously.

"Oh no you don't," Snotlout shot back, grabbing one of his horns and pulling his head to the side. "We're making sure he doesn't loop back around. Come on Astrid!" He beckoned her onto the saddle while his dragon continued to hiss.

They arrived back in the arena to find Heather tending to Hiccup. Well, trying to, Toothy was standing in front of him protectively and growling at her.

"Heather?" Astrid asked as she dropped from the saddle, followed by Snotlout.

Hookfang promptly launched himself back into the air back towards the forest. "OI! Get back here you overgrown lizard!" Snotlout shouted after him, but he was long gone.

"Astrid! These bindings have wire running through them, there's no way Toothy can get them off but he won't let me near!"

"Alright, he trusts me, I'll get it," she said and strode forward, Snotlout grumbling as he followed. But then her stomach dropped as a scuff sounded behind her and Heather's expression turned to horror.

* * *

**(( ZK-zWTDzebE ))**

"Emperor's New Clothes"


	15. Treachery

Heather gave a horrified look at the man creeping around the rock, who scowled at her before ducking back out of sight. That should keep everyone occupied for a few moments at least, but she needed to act quickly; the two teens were of a few she had come to call her friends and she didn't want to see them dead.

"Who's there?" Astrid shouted as she spun with her axe raised, and Heather turned back to the Fury.

It was tightly bound and had no chance of freeing itself, but the bigger one was standing next to it protectively with those razor-sharp fangs bared at her. "Look, I want to help–" mid-sentence, she flicked the sand in her left hand at its eyes, at almost the same time her right hand darted forward and jabbed it in the weak point behind the jaw to instantly drop it– "just _trust_ me…"

Breathing a sigh of relief, she rose silently and stalked up behind Astrid, delivering a swift punch to her kidney and a second to the back of her head, then caught her so she didn't crack her skull open on the rock.

Snotlout heard the attack and skipped to the side, holding his axe defensively. "Traitor!" he growled at her. It hurt, and all the more because it was true. "You could have had _this_. You could have had a _dragon_. Who else could _possibly_ give you more!? _Why_ Heather!?"

Heather wished she could apologise and explain, but she only had one chance. Without words, she quickly shed her boots, tunic, chest bindings, skirt, leggings, and underclothes. Snotlout's words died in his open mouth and his eyes grew wider and wider until they seemed likely to fall out as she pulled off the last garment and stood completely bare in front of him. She sauntered forward in the chill air, lightly pushed the axe away, and struck him in the throat. He went down in a gasping heap.

"Well well, I see I needn't have doubted," purred the man stepping from the shadows as he sheathed his sword. He was tall and of medium build, sported a long and smart moustache, and his cheerful and alert eyes took in the scene.

"Give a girl some privacy," Heather said flatly as she retrieved her clothes and hurriedly covered herself.

Alvin snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, you're a few years shy of anything attractive. Ahh, there they are, my little treasures. I admit I had my doubts when I dropped you on that beach, but you've done well." _Hmph_, more like tossed her from the boat _near_ the beach. He casually strode towards the two Furies, one unconscious and the other motionless, and wasted no time binding Toothy with a thin rope and stuffing them both into sacks.

"The other things too," Heather reminded him hopefully. "A book containing all the knowledge this lot have on all dragons, all their strengths and weaknesses, and a second book to learn how to _talk to them_." She was just blurting out the words by the end.

"Talk to them…" He watched her with his calculating expression, probably imagining all the misdeeds he could achieve. "Where are these books?"

"In the village, but I can get them, I'll be quick–"

"And you're certain that… they're as valuable as you imply?"

"Yes, of course! I–" She stopped and nearly shrieked in frustration as she walked right into his word trap.

His grin could only be described as 'charming', as despicable and vile as it was. "They're already searching the island, we don't have time. Luckily, it seems I have my own expert on the subjects…"

She nearly broke down on the spot. He was holding freedom so tantalisingly close, and if she'd just kept her mouth shut instead of trying to bargain for it sooner… "Alright then," her emotionless shell responded as it jogged after him.

* * *

Dreamer froze as he heard the strike, Wanderer's minute squeak, and then his impact with the ground. All loud and clear to him, but Astrid had clearly heard none of it. He remained absolutely still and silent as Heather stalked up behind Astrid and dropped her, then… he didn't have words for the next part.

Even as the newcomer strode back out into the open, Dreamer could only watch Heather. Not because of her nudity, but because his instincts were screaming that she'd just _attacked his nest_, and that he should be absolutely still and silent. His focus barely changed when the man strode towards him with greed set deep into his eyes. He remained rigid as Wanderer's nose disappeared from his peripheral with a shuffling sound, but the spell was broken when the stranger reached for him. He squeaked and squirmed, but the bindings held him tightly and he was easily dropped into a sack.

After a few minutes of swinging he began to start thinking clearly again, then immediately lamented not warning Astrid. Any sound to get her attention, and this all could have been avoided. His instincts were useful sometimes – he regretted ignoring the ones about Heather – but _why_ had he obeyed this one?

He whimpered miserably. These straps Dagur had fitted him with were impossible to break or claw through, and held his legs and wings tightly to his body. The Nightmare fire, as hot as it was, had not burned him, but it left his scales feeling dry and they scratched irritably against the sack. _There is also that we're being kidnapped, but it's nice to know I have my priorities in order_.

Well, this new man hadn't hurt them… yet. He tried to focus on where they were going, but everything was muffled by the sack.

His thoughts were back at berating himself for not warning Astrid when he heard Wanderer groan. Dreamer was almost certain he'd also been taken alive, but it was a relief to have that remaining small yet frightening chance eradicated. The groan was followed by increasingly loud growling, and then a pained yelp and a subdued whimper.

Dreamer chirped quietly, enquiringly. _Relief, worry, fear,_ he heard Wanderer croon back. Dreamer tried to reassure him with _strong, patience_, but no doubt some _fear_ slipped in as well. _Patience, hope, fear,_ came the response.

Eventually, tense and aggressive voices pricked his ears, but the words were muffled and almost drowned out by the sack rasping against his ears. His heart hammered in his chest, burning with hope, he wanted to voice his relief but he was still in the possession of the stranger.

And then, suddenly, he recognised the other voice and ice lanced through his veins.

* * *

The sun was just beginning to set, casting an eerie glow over the sheltered bay and the two boats moored in it. The breeze was firm and the calm waters lapped at the sun-warmed rock, perfect conditions for sailing.

But Dagur had one last gamble before leaving. He and his men hid in the shadows, waiting to pounce on whoever's boat they had stumbled on while scouting the island. The only reason to have a fishing boat hidden here was for exactly the same reason he was there, and with one dragon bound as it was they would be making their move. If not, there was nothing lost as they needed to wait for sunset to cast off; light enough so as to not attract attention but becoming dark before they drifted suspiciously far.

"Ho there!"

The voice made Dagur jump, and he instantly assumed an aggressive stance towards the source. It took him only a moment to locate the two dark-haired people standing on the steep bank overlooking the bay. "Hello there!" he called back cheerfully, though remained wary. "This other boat is yours?" He approvingly noted that the two sacks held by the man were exactly the right size.

"That's right. Would you good men mind terribly if we passed? We're in a hurry, you see."

"Of course! We're in a hurry too."

The man grinned and slid down, and Dagur grinned back as he sped forward with his axe in tow – but then skidded to a stop as the man casually hefted both sacks in one hand and held his sword to them. "Now, I figure we're both here for the same thing," he said calmly, "but as you say we are both in a hurry."

"Then stop talking and give me my Night Furies so we can both leave," Dagur ordered sternly.

"Hmm, but you see, I am not leaving without them. If you attack me, I will kill them and neither of us win. If I try to take them–"

"I will gut you before you reach your boat."

"Exactly. We could also stand here bickering to eventually be caught by the Hooligans, then neither of us will escape their dragons. We are at a stalemate."

Dagur growled. "Live is better but I'll take their bodies over nothing. Hand them over and I'll let you live."

"Patience, my friend, I'm getting there. Neither of us will leave without them. There are two of them. I will leave one here and board my boat while you claim it. You could try to come after mine too, but two fishing vessels fighting will attract attention."

On one hand, two dead Furies. Oh so stylish, but _boooriiing!_ On the other hand, one live Fury…

"I'll throw in some information!" the girl shouted before sliding down after the man. "They're completely flightless without even one of their tail fins. Bind the fins to the tail and it's a capable and sane but landbound dragon."

"Oooh, that _is_ interesting," Dagur mused. He was inclined to believe her, it would be a pointless lie, and the _possibilities_… "Very well, I accept your terms." For as long as it took him to gut the man, anyway.

"You and your men back up, these sacks may not look it but they are rather heavy."

Dagur complied with a scowl, watching the girl climb aboard the boat and prepare it to cast off, but keeping the man in his peripheral. "How do I know there's a Fury in there, or that it's alive?" The man responded by holding up and dropping one of the sacks – it squeaked as it hit the rocky ground. "Fine, but hurry up! We don't have all day. You," he called back to his men, "prepare the boat as soon as he starts moving."

The man took a few steps away from the sack on the ground, then slung his own sack some ten paces onto the boat and raced aboard as Dagur raced towards him. When it was clear any fight would be over the water, potentially drawing the attention of the Hooligans as the _frustratingly_ clever man had warned, he growled angrily and went for his own side of the bargain instead.

He yanked open the drawstring, needing to be absolutely certain; the stranger would _pay_ for crossing him regardless of the consequences. A single green eye peeked back at him from a black mass of scales wrapped in familiar bindings "Hello again little Fury," he cooed, smiling broadly. "We're going to have so much _fun_ together…"

* * *

With a stern glare, Brenna snatched the rigging away from the Berserker who had been roughly tugging at it. Her husband had made her this boat, and she would give it up when she could meet him in Valhalla. The burly man grunted at her and stepped to the side of the vessel, reaching over and pulling up one of the sacks. She wasn't sure how she felt about getting just the one, but it was better than the none they'd had earlier. Neither was free, that was the main thing.

Dagur vaulted onto the deck and did a double-take at her. "What are YOU doing here!?" he shrieked, the boat sliding away from its mooring a moment later.

"_My_ boat," she reminded him. "And I can't go back now. I got you what you wanted, consider it an offering… I ask for admission into the Berserker tribe, to simply work my boat."

"_Half_ of what I wanted," he growled back at her. "And you're right! You CAN'T go back, CAN you? HAHAHA! You're a traitor! Oooh the _look_ Astrid gave you…" He giggled madly. "Alright then, welcome aboard!"

He spun his bizarre axe, and Brenna blinked. One moment it was in his hands, the next it was gone. She looked down. Oh, there it was. "I _despise_ traitors," he snarled in her face. She coughed weakly as he wrenched the blade free, and then sky filled her sight as she fell over the railing and into the water.

* * *

_Pain_. It pulsed through Astrid's head as she slowly regained consciousness, the only thing she was aware of. "Who… what happened…?" she asked automatically, her own voice sounding distant.

A light tapping noise needled at her eardrums, and she managed to crack an eye open to see the wrinkled form of Gothi holding a bowl of water for her. She shakily took it and sipped, nearly gagging at the unexpectedly bitter liquid, then grimaced at it and made to give it back. The old woman's stern expression and raised staff made her think twice.

After choking down the horrible mixture she slowly took in her surroundings. All manner of strange things lined the walls of the open hut, even more mysterious in the flickering firelight, and Gothi had turned to Snotlout who was struggling through wheezing breaths.

_Heather._

She jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain, and took a single step into the night before Gothi's staff descended firmly on her shoulder. "_Please_," she implored as she turned back, "people are in danger, it's really important!"

The old woman used her staff to tug Astrid down to her, then held aloft a small torch and stared into each of her eyes with a thoughtful expression. She waved a thin hand, then clicked her fingers. Seemingly satisfied, she turned back to Snotlout.

Astrid took that as permission and bolted from the hut to stand at the top of the narrow staircase behind it. _This is going to hurt…_ She raised her fingers to her mouth and whistled through them, scrunching her brow as the sound pierced her head and rang in her ears.

The seconds dragged by, but eventually Stormfly appeared out of the darkness and landed on the wide platform at the front of the hut. Astrid started to run to her, but stopped as her dragon hissed and tilted her head to inspect her. "_You hurt,_" she said before sniffing at her face.

"_Nightstrikers!_" Astrid said frantically, wishing she knew more words but hoping her tone would convey meaning as Fishlegs said it often did.

It certainly did in this case, Stormfly practically threw herself under Astrid to get her into the saddle and they sped through the dark sky to the training ring. There was no reply to the Nadder's worried calls. "Take me back to Stoick, girl!" She leaned on the saddle and they cruised over the forest, then let her dragon take the lead.

_Oh gods_, Brenna had been with them! How late was it? Stoick would be looking for Berserkers on the island, or a Berserker ship in the water, how could she have forgotten to mention that!? Nobody would think twice about another fishing boat with the Berk crest. But Dagur had retreated… _Heather_ had been the one to knock her out, and apparently Snotlout as well. Of _course_ she'd been after the Furies, why hadn't they thought of that!? Only her frantic focus on her task kept her from shrieking in frustration. Was the girl in league with Dagur? Maybe he had looped back around. _Oh gods _please_ let the Furies be safe_…

In the darkness Astrid couldn't help vividly imagining Dagur's cruelty, and tried to occupy herself with scanning the ground for torches. Not that she expected any to be carried, but it was better than despairing.

Astrid breathed a tiny sigh of relief when Stormfly suddenly descended, and she called out for Stoick.

"Astrid?" her Chief's voice boomed. "What happened?"

"_It was Heather_," she blurted out, her voice breaking, as she dropped from the saddle and practically threw herself at him. "She knocked us out and I think she took the Furies!" She didn't even try to stop the tears, fighting to stay lucid and get words out between sobs. "I think she's with Dagur, and Brenna's with them! H-h-how long was I out? They'll be on her boat!"

"_Odin's soiled breeches,_" Stoick swore. "He's led us on a wild chase here. You lot, get back to the village! Astrid, can you take me back?"

"I… I think so." She turned to her Nadder and stroked her head. "Sorry girl, I know you're tired. I'll make it up to you, promise." Stormfly chittered and affectionately nibbled her hair, then lowered to the ground to allow them both to mount. It was always a little awkward with Stoick due to how far back the saddle was, but they managed.

"Yeh should know something, lass," Stoick said solemnly as Stormfly laboured into the air. "We… found the Nightmare you've been looking for, we think. Looks like Dagur found it first, a few days ago."

Her heart went out to the poor dragon, but there wasn't much room to feel for it. She was too stricken by the kidnapping of the Furies. "Heather must have been working with Dagur. They showed up at the same time and with the same goal, and she was his backup plan. Or maybe she was just getting information on them. How could we be so _blind!?_ We didn't even think…"

"No, we didn't," Stoick said reassuringly. "We thought of them as people, and not valuable _things_. You didn't know any better, but I… I should have."

She turned in the saddle to look back at him, and for a moment she truly saw him in the moonlight. He looked utterly _broken_, a man clinging to the last shreds of hope but expecting to lose. It was only a moment, then she was looking at his calm and collected mask.

Astrid collected herself and nodded at him, building her own mask of calm control and affixing it to her face. As Stormfly struggled through the air they coldly and logically planned the search, and then backup plans. Anything to keep hope alive.

* * *

It was cramped. It was dark. It was stuffy. Wanderer did not much care for this not-skin-thing he had been put in. The weird movements of the ground weren't helping either. One of the floating Long-Paw tree-things, he guessed.

He was not bound by the same things that had held Dreamer at least, these did not have hard metal inside them. They were tough, but they were thin and his claws were sharp. He just needed to keep working at them, though it would be a _lot_ faster with a better angle…

The not-skin that encased him was picked up again. More distant sounds became audible, so he'd presumably been taken out of the belly of the tree-thing, but then there was very little light peeking through the not-skin so it must still be night. His heart rose hopefully and he gave another enquiring chirp… the lack of response slowly weighed him back down.

Distant sound muted again and pricks of warm light reached his eyes, then much light as the not-skin opened. He growled at the long paw that reached in even as he flinched away from it, but he had nowhere to retreat to and was easily grabbed by his tail and pulled into the open.

Wildly scanning in his surroundings, the first thing he saw was that Dreamer was absent. There was no scent of him here and no evidence of a second not-skin-thing. He was dismayed they were separated, but could hope Dreamer's fate was better. He would just need to focus on his own situation for now and worry about it later. The second thing was the tall Long-Paw standing in front of him, which he noticed right before it roughly grabbed his head.

He didn't know what was happening, somehow the touch alone _stung_ at his scales and made the muscles crawl under his hide. Thrashing madly only achieved a few pathetic flops around the raised surface he was on, but then the torturous contact ended. Something felt different around his head, the bindings were less narrow and painful but much firmer. He experimentally rubbed them against the tree-surface he was on and then against his shoulder, but couldn't even get them to budge.

His growl cut off when he recognised the bad name that Dreamer had given him. How did this Long-Paw know that? _No-teeth _… Hrrr, his teeth were still sheathed. Maybe he would find a use for that later. He just wished his gums weren't pressed so tightly together, they were getting sore.

The Long-Paw examined him, and he warily examined it back. It smelled heavily of itself, but tree-smoke, dirt and bracken were prevalent too. It was tall, had tidy head-fur and face-fur, and though its limbs were hidden under long not-skins it held itself with a lithe strength. This was a dangerous Long-Paw, even more so by the calm greed in its eyes.

It was joined by a second, shorter Long-Paw with an oversized chin and thick face-fur standing out sideways from under its nose. It smelled of itself only. Maybe also of salt, but then everything smelled of salt. As it chattered Wanderer noted that its teeth were not blunt and useless like other Long-Paws', but were pointy and sharp. Perhaps a more aggressive breed, though it spoke in _fear_ and _submission_.

He growled at them again. He didn't expect it to faze them, and indeed it didn't, he was just demonstrating his defiance. The greedy one leaned in and hummed something back at him in such sick happiness it could have been a purr. He hissed at its words.

It smiled at him in the Long-Paw way – though to Wanderer it seemed closer to baring its teeth – and pranced out of the small space, leaving him with the sharp-tooth Long-Paw which looked very unhappy and uncertain about something. He growled at it again and its uncertainty grew. It felt good. The Long-Paw hesitantly reached out to him, the paw held with intent to grab. He waited patiently until it nearly touched him, then lunged at it – of course he could barely move, his legs were bound to his body and his mouth was bound shut, but the Long-Paw startled backwards and nearly tripped over. He chuckled as he watched it collect itself.

It huffed at him and strode forward more confidently, though this time it rearranged something outside of his sight before reaching for him again. There was only a small flinch as he lunged a second time, even with an added growl, and then its touch had his senses screaming at him again.

The noise in his head was _deafening_, but eventually subsided as the contact reduced to a firm pressure on his shoulders, and he panted as his mind cleared a bit. Enough to realise the bindings around him had changed, one of his forelegs had been released. _Patience_…

_Hear your body when it says chase…_

The Long-Paw leaned, then the foreleg that was not pinning him drifted overhead. He lashed out and sunk his claws into it, the Long-Paw's own instinctive jerk back did the damage for him and elicited a hiss of pain, though it did not let him go as he'd hoped. _Hrrff. At least it knows I can hurt it_.

It growled something at him and slid him to an angle he could not see it properly, then weight settled most of the way down his back but disappeared from his neck. He struggled again, however pointless it was; his scales felt like they were crawling around his hide, and its _vile_ breath felt toxic against his back.

To this point he'd been defiant and confident, determined to show these nest-thieves that he would not be cowed. The sight of the short, fat Long-Paw claw that drifted in front of his face instantly drained his confidence. A deep chill swept up his body and paralysed him as it hovered there, and the weight on him shifted again.

His freed paw was grabbed and pulled forward.

_No…_

He fought his frozen body to struggle, but there was too much weight on him and he was otherwise still bound. The squared point of the claw rested on the tree-surface and his paw was dragged towards it, but he yanked it back. There was no satisfaction from the cuts it caused in the process. His leg was grabbed again, the grip now resilient to his frantic tugging, and pulled forward. _NO!_

_Chunk_

The tug on his claw was _excruciating_, and he screeched in outrage and pain.

_Chunk_

He _strained_ at his bindings and beat his head and tail against his captor to no effect, hissing and growling madly.

_Chunk_

The grip on his leg loosened and he wrenched it back, tucking it under his chest, but it was quickly pried out again and angled further to the side. He was suddenly less worried about his paw when the Long-Paw claw pivoted closer to his face, and he pulled his head back as far as the pin would allow.

_Chunk_

His leg was released and it darted back under him, feeling so very _wrong wrong WRONG_ without the sharp and familiar lengths at the end. He hunched up around the paw – as much as the pin allowed – and couldn't suppress a whimper, feeling helpless. This was somehow worse than losing his fire, and he even still had claws left!

…

_NONONONONO_ his thoughts screamed as he thrashed and struggled anew.

* * *

_Stupid day_… It was a _miserable_ day, _nothing_ was right in the world and everything seemed dark and gloomy. The morning had absolutely _no right_ to be this sunny and cheerful.

Astrid sat on a rock in the cove and stared blankly at her axe. Her reflection stared blankly back at her. She needed to be awake, but the dragons needed to recover and she didn't trust herself to let them rest, so she'd come here. "What would you have done?" she asked the ghost of the boy from long ago. His resolve, that _determination_ he'd possessed, he'd be out there scouring–… No, that wasn't his style. He'd _want_ do something stupid, Astrid would tell him to calm down, and then he'd _think_. He'd come up with an amazing plan and see it through, then keep fighting until the end; whether that be for his entire village, or a single black dragon.

She really wished Hiccup was here right now. Either of them. _Both_ of them. She'd lost them both, and couldn't help feeling responsible. It had been _her_ job to assess Heather, and she'd failed miserably at it regardless of how much Stoick reassured her.

The wingbeats were initially dismissed as her imagination – but unlike all the other times they became louder, closer, until Stormfly landed on the grass in front of her looking tense but much more refreshed. Astrid holstered her axe and vaulted into the saddle, feeling the renewed strength of her friend, and they leapt into the air to assemble the other riders.

She hadn't slept, but she'd rested enough to remain alert and spent the rest of the night gathering information. Talking to more seasoned sailors for estimates on the boat's range through the night, getting an exact heading for Berserk and what path a ship there might take, and what paths it might take should it want to go unnoticed.

It wasn't quite a Hiccup plan, but it was a _plan_.

* * *

Heather had wanted to avoid the dragon as much as possible, but she had no excuse when Alvin told her to feed his 'toothless' beast. Why was he so hung up on that anyway? It didn't even matter that she'd told him its teeth were retractable.

She went below deck to retrieve a fish from the stores. It was surprisingly roomy, though that there was only the three of them was part of it, with Alvin steering the ship and Savage manning most of the rigging with a bit of help from herself.

Below deck was split into three compartments – the main area where two beds lined one wall and provisions lined the other, the walled-off stern of the ship which was Alvin's quarters, and the walled-off prow which served whatever it needed to. In this case, a small black dragon. She tugged on the bolt and pulled the door open, then took a moment to light a lamp fixed securely to the wall. The meagre flame lit the room enough to see the dark lump on the table.

Not wanting to tempt it, she quickly and carefully set the fish down next to it and went to leave… but then remembered water. Alvin did not take it well when a job was half-done. She huffed and returned to the main hold – locking the door behind her – to retrieve a bowl and half-fill it with water. She re-entered the room to find the fish still there, but now there were two slit green eyes watching her.

Eyeing the dragon warily, she set the bowl down next to it; its wide base prevented it from tipping from the ship's movements. The dragon put its nose to the bowl. _Eh eh eh eh_ came a sound from its throat, then it snorted in a way that sounded a lot like '_stupid'_. She narrowed her eyes at it – then saw the tight binding around its head, clamping its mouth shut.

"How was I supposed to know?" she snapped at it illogically, but then furrowed her brow at the problem. Alvin had told her to _feed_ it, not to just give it food. She groaned. How was she going to do this? She was pretty sure it would bite her hand off given the chance. It had bitten through thicker bones than hers.

She inspected the dragon, not completely bound as it was before and holding itself in a tight bundle. Its paws were not visible, but she trusted Savage to have trimmed the claws as he had claimed; the _hilarious_ number of scratches he had incurred in the process had probably ensured he'd been thorough. The end of a metal manacle was visible from under its wing, so it was almost certainly attached to the table; she inspected a second, empty manacle next to it and was confident the dragon was secured.

So that just left freeing its mouth without letting it bite her. Easy enough. She slowly reached forward, ignoring the growl, then tugged a little slack through the clasp and quickly stepped back. The dragon looked at her blankly, then tried its mouth, finding a little more room than before, and quickly pried the muzzle off. It snapped up the fish and lapped at the water, moving quickly but not desperately, and she left before it could finish.

Let Alvin muzzle it again. She needed to spend as much time above deck while she still could.

* * *

_If the gods weren't laughing before, then they are now_, Dreamer thought wryly as he inspected his bindings for the umpteenth time. _Dagur's back to playing 'dragon hunter' with me_. He snorted. _Probably going to be about as dangerous, too_. He cut off the thought that he _still_ had scars from those games, because of course now he did not.

He wasn't overly worried right now. Sure, he was separated from Wanderer, in a cramped cage, on a Berserker longship, surrounded by people who wanted to hunt him for his skin and skull, and headed for Berserk, but they hadn't beheaded and skinned him _yet_. Dagur was an impatient person so that spoke of some sort of plan, and if Dreamer was good at anything – at least before becoming a Nightstriker – he was good at derailing plans. Maybe not quite as good as the twins, but then he'd never really been trying before.

And that was assuming he didn't get rescued first. That would be nice.

It would have been better if he'd caught some of the conversation that had led to him being handed to Dagur though, then he'd have a better idea of what was going on. Stupid Norse words, why were they so difficult to hear with these ears? Surely better ears should make it _easier_ to hear? _Of course not, only everything _else_ is easier to hear_.

_I miss Wanderer_, he whined to himself. They'd never been apart for longer than a night until now, and this was day two with no reunion in sight. Hopefully his friend would be okay, they'd been taken alive so his captor probably intended to keep him that way.

"Shar' iii'," one of the rowing Berserkers growled and reached back to rap on his cage. _Yeah well you get tied up for two days with no food or water and see how well you take it_. He was parched and starving but didn't feel weak from it yet, probably because he hadn't really been able to move much in that time. He would need to eat and drink soon though. While he was on the topic, he was also cramped, stiff, bored, and itchy.

Had they forgotten he had needs? Or did they just not intend to meet them? Hmm, it might be better to force their hand earlier rather than waiting until he _really_ needed sustenance. What did a dragon do when it was hungry? Had he ever seen a dragon hungry? Well, when Wanderer had been stranded in the cove of course, but he'd been bigger and been getting _something_. He thought about it for a while but couldn't come to any conclusion.

_Stupid, I'm overthinking this_. The hunger, the thirst, focus on them… _So hungry_… When had he last eaten? Mmrrr, it'd been some fish from the docks, fresh and still wet, before that last stint of flying. _Nnggg_, flying, he might even take that over food right now. No, that would only make him more hungry. Go for food. Dripping wet fish, fresh from the water, just enough to wet his tongue too.

The more he focused on it the more unbearable it became. Maybe he'd been a little closer to starvation than he'd thought. He groaned pitifully, attracting the attention of the Berserker again, but he ignored it. The noise of iron rapping against the cage was nothing compared to the void in his stomach.

Dagur's growling voice said something unintelligible, but he remained motionless and limp. Something poked him, and he resisted the urge to try to claw at it. Dagur shrieking; at him or the Berserker, he didn't know.

"Ssort it ou' hen whe stop forr 'he naitt," and then footsteps leading away. _Really!?_ It was barely noon. If he really _had_ been dying of thirst… Well, that _was_ why he'd played it up a bit.

…_Nnggg, but that means I need to keep this up for the rest of the day…_

* * *

The ground rocked left. The ground rocked right. Wanderer sighed. The ground rocked left. It rocked left again! That was interesting. Then it rocked right.

There wasn't anything else going on, and he was bored of sleeping. His hindleg was bound in metal that he could not bite through and attached to the tree-surface, preventing him from doing more than walking in a tight circle. Which felt _very_ weird and wrong with such short and blunt claws. He growled and began licking them again for comfort.

It was almost a relief when the greedy Long-Paw entered the small room. Now that it had broken the monotony, it could go away again. Of course it didn't, even when Wanderer growled at it, just began clicking and humming in Long-Paw speech. He tried to focus on the sounds, separate them into words, but it was a very alien language and he could barely tell one sound from the next.

They had not bound his mouth again, which was good, but the meals and water were sparse. At least that meant he hadn't needed to foul the room yet; hopefully this tree-thing would finish its hilariously slow journey before then, if he could not escape sooner.

He didn't bother blustering at the Long-Paw like a Fire-Scale, didn't even hunch his wings. He knew he was not the one in control. Even if he somehow killed this Long-Paw right now he would still be stuck here, so he regarded it calmly, patiently.

It continued chattering haughtily, leaning on the table and splaying out the long toes on its paw. If he reached, he could probably have bitten the wrist… but settled for swiping at the paw instead. The Long-Paw was fast, but Wanderer still grazed it with his useless claws. It laughed at him and resumed chattering.

Through its tone and body language he could tell this Long-Paw didn't want to kill him. It spoke very possessively of him, in a sort of muted aggression that often went with greed; it wanted to _break_ him, tame him and make him its own. _It can try_. He had many more cycles under his wings than he looked.

The Long-Paw stopped chattering to look at him thoughtfully, stroking the long fur on its face, while Wanderer gave it a blank expression back. It tentatively reached forward, which he growled at but made no aggressive move towards. Seeming to come to some sort of decision or conclusion, the Long-Paw reached over him to pin him by his shoulder. _A quick lunge, taste its blood, break its bones, do it do it DO IT_, but he resisted the urge. Especially when it started fiddling with the metal around his hindleg.

Wanderer went very still. The den-mouth was still open just a crack, enough to see the light of the Sky-Fire through. The paw held him down in a firm pin, but that could be easily fixed, even if he missed his lunge it would need to let go and he would be free. _Patience_… He couldn't help the energy and tension surging in his muscles as the paw pressed a little more firmly onto his shoulder.

_Click_

He surrendered to the impulse and moved with all the speed of a hungry Nightstriker. His muscles snapped into action, twisting him to bring his head around to the limb pinning him. His teeth snapped out as he moved, needle points ready to rend flesh and splinter bone, and his powerful jaws clamped down with all the strength he could muster.

_Crack_

* * *

A high note rang through the boat, an unholy shriek that pierced Heather's ears and needled down her spine. She hugged her legs tightly with her elbows, clasping her hands over her head and trying not to imagine what was going on inside the room at the prow.

The sound only lasted a few moments before dying off, and Alvin swiftly exited the room shortly after. He spared her a smug look as he pulled up his sleeves to remove a pair of metal bracers, then tossed them into a chest and climbed the ladder back up to the deck. It wasn't difficult to put two and two together.

She felt like she was going to throw up. Alvin was a cruel man and had hurt and killed a _lot_ of people, much of which Heather had helped him do in some way or another, but this was like… torturing a child. However much she told herself it was just a dragon, that she had no choice, it was just too much for her to bear. She wanted to run, to huddle in a corner at the back of the boat, but below deck was Alvin's locked quarters and if she so much as poked her head above deck it would be removed from her shoulders.

But she couldn't do _nothing_ either. With a fearful tension she crept to the door at the front of the ship and slowly slid the bolt; quietly, as if she were trespassing. It took a minute to collect herself enough to nudge the door open and step inside.

Alvin had left the lamp lit – unlikely it was an oversight, as usual his prediction of her was spot-on – which illuminated an empty table. Her heart hammered in her chest, but right now she didn't really care what the dragon did to her. The door closed behind her.

A pair of green eyes stared from the corner of the room, what was the very prow of the ship, tinged with red and holding a feral defiance. Her gaze lowered to the floor, and the eyes bored through her a little longer before they curled into the bundle of shadow and disappeared.

There was a thin trail of blood leading to it from the table, and she again had to fight the urge to be sick. She retrieved its empty water bowl, trying not to look too closely at the lumpy red pool on the table, and left the room.

She hesitated after taking the dragon's ration from the food stores. She couldn't afford to show it compassion, couldn't bring herself to make the choices that would inevitably come… but she wasn't exactly going to be eating today herself, and however calm it tried to appear the thing was obviously very hungry. She took her own ration out as well.

After ladling some water from the barrel into the bowl she re-entered the room to find the dragon exactly where she'd left it, watching her again with those accusing eyes, and set the water and both fish down about a pace away from it. Then she returned to the main hold, bolted the door behind her, and curled up on her bed again to pretend that everything was okay.

* * *

It was some time before the greedy Long-Paw returned, long enough for the pain in Wanderer's mouth to simmer down to a dull ache. It was tempting to go for its leg, but right now he would do more damage to himself than it. No fire, blunt claws, and now blunt teeth. Wrr, he still had a few fangs, but they were too scattered and mostly too far back to be of any use.

He was also deeply afraid of what else the Long-Paws might take from him. Such as his wings or tail.

The Long-Paw strode towards him and picked him up by the scruff of his neck to drop him back onto the tree-surface, clicking and humming as it went. He may not have fought, but he still growled; he wasn't broken yet, and the touch still seemed to worm its way under his hide.

As he was shaking himself free of the horrid sensation, a paw closed around his tail. He spun and snarled at it, while there was little point in fighting it was _not_ going to ground him, not while he drew breath. The paw didn't move, so he slashed it with his blunted claws–

He groggily blinked his eyes open with a groan, the tender spot behind his jaw aching fiercely. _What happened…?_ Wrr, he hadn't even seen the Long-Paw move; it was _fast_. He growled and stretched his neck, then the rest of him – his tail fins! They weren't working! He whipped his tail around in a panic, then groaned in relief at finding them only bound.

The Long-Paw clicked at him cheerily and beckoned, walking out of the den-mouth… and leaving it open. Cautiously, he followed it out into a larger room full of Long-Paw clutter in time to see the Long-Paw disappear through a hole in the roof.

The air was heavy with the scent of the female Long-Paw, it was here somewhere though he could not see or hear it. _Hrff, it _should_ hide from me._ The smell of food was too tempting to pass up and he followed his nose up onto a big round thing, but it was sealed and impenetrable. Dejectedly, he dropped back to the floor.

Light streamed from the hole in the roof, the likes of which he had not seen for what felt like an eternity. He was a creature of the night and did not need the sky-fire… but he stared in awe as it reminded him of soaring with its warm light pressing comfortably over his back. _Free_… He shook his head and sceptically eyed the grid of branches leading up to it, then experimentally hooked his paws over one. It seemed to work, though he was barely able to reach for the next branch and it was an awkward climb to the top.

Fresh, salty air caressed his face as his head emerged. It was bliss. The two Long-Paws watched him cautiously, but didn't seem to mind him there and only showed a moderate tension when he hurried to the side of the tree-thing to relieve himself over the edge. As tempting as it was to foul whatever he could of this fledgling-thief, he didn't know how long he himself would be stuck here. And as he looked around, he confirmed it would be a while – there wasn't a scrap of land in sight. Even if his tail fins weren't bound he would have trouble swimming anywhere, and in his current state he might even have trouble _flying_ to land depending on how far away it was.

He eyed the tree jutting from the middle of the floating-tree-thing, then jumped down from the side and tried to climb it. His claws were far too blunt and kept slipping off, but the act seemed to comfort the aching nubs. He kept scratching at it until they became too sensitive to continue. Perhaps it would work on his teeth too, but they were still too tender to try.

Sighing, he padded away to hop onto the edge furthest from both Long-Paws and spread out in the light. He'd been allowed a small measure of freedom… but he was still very much trapped.

* * *

The light of the fourth day graced the sky through the bars of Dreamer's cage. He'd spent the first day cowering, the second day sarcastic and bitter about everything, the third day a strange mix between the two, and now… nothing. He felt hollow, drained. Almost like he didn't really care what happened next, as long as _something_ happened. Being stuck in this tiny cage was slowly driving him mad. Distantly, he worried that he was getting a little delirious.

Though he had to commend the Berserkers, they only stopped rowing when the wind moved them too fast for it to help and for the few hours they'd stopped for the second night. At least they had let him out to stretch his legs and wings – chained to a tree, of course – to give him a few fish and some water. They hadn't re-bound him either, though the cage was still stifling. With the speed they were moving they must have been nearing Berserk by now, he assumed that's where they were going anyway.

His thoughts were running pointless circles around Wanderer and Heather at mid-morning when a shout announced his suspicions. Pressing his head to the top of his cage, he could just about make out the mountain of Berserk in the distance; not nearly as impressive as Berk's but still tall and sheer. Suddenly, he _did_ feel something – dread. As much as he loathed this cage and this boat, he feared what reaching their destination would bring.

With a quiet whimper, he shrank to the back of his cage. He wished Wanderer was with him… then immediately felt guilty for wanting this fate on his friend, which then made him want comforting _more_… He was deep in a downward spiral when they inevitably bumped against the docks.

Dagur himself grabbed his cage and hauled him off the boat, then paraded him through the village. Occasionally he would hold the cage high in the air and shout incoherently, and Dreamer had to cover his ears at the loud roars he received in response. All the while, the tension and anxiety and _fear_ welled in his empty stomach, and before long he didn't bother dropping his paws from his head and just sobbed.

_Just get it over with…_

He jumped when his cage was dropped onto a hard surface, and rank smells accosted his nose. A leatherworker. He went very, _very_ still, barely daring to breathe. Trying to make out Dagur's crazed words was pointless, but something told him he didn't want to know.

The touch on his tail stabbed at his senses, and without thinking he spun with a snarl and snapped at the offending hand. He felt a primal satisfaction at the speed with which it withdrew, though the cage was then lifted and _slammed_ back onto the table.

Dazed, he felt his tail pulled through the bars and firmly held down. With a horrible sinking feeling, he hunched over and clenched his fins in tightly, flinching at the snipping and snapping sounds that seemed to prick at his spine and waiting in anguish for the inevitable pain… but it never came. After a few minutes he was released, the end of his tail feeling tight but not hurting, and he whipped it back into the cage before they could change their minds.

He fearfully brought it to his gaze, then slumped in relief at finding it bound in strips of leather that wound tightly around the fins, and a little further up to wedge between the small blades on the sides of his tail. A few prods with a claw confirmed it to be the same as before, embedded with strong wire to prevent it from being bitten or clawed apart. Unlike before there were no clasps or knots, only hard fixtures. It would not be easy to remove.

But this was actually somewhat promising… There was no point in doing this if they were just going to kill him. The fact that they had bound his fins instead of cutting them implied some plan as well… but then again, Dagur was a madman, it was foolish to try to analyse him and make assumptions.

Dagur carried him past the edge of the village, no longer showing him off, then across a field and to the treeline. He knew the forest covered the centre of the island, ringed by fields and then villages that dotted the coast. _So what was he…?_

The door to the cage swung open.

Dreamer suddenly didn't want to leave the cage. The cage was good, he was protected by its thick bars, and if they wanted him in a cage then they didn't want him dead. The forest looked far too dark and exposed, and was full of all sorts of unknowns. He didn't move.

He shrieked as the cage was upended and shaken until he fell out. Panic gripping at his chest, he scrabbled to his paws and darted into the trees, spurred on by eager and malicious promises that followed him into the shaded forest.


	16. Crucible

Wanderer panted in the warm light with his stomach growling noisily. It was nearing the second night since he'd been allowed outside, but it had soon been made clear that he would need to return to his dark little room if he wanted food or water. Doing so would almost certainly result in being locked back in there, so he stubbornly refused.

The dehydration was taking its toll though, and every so often the submissive male would casually chase him around the ship. It had been a fun game to start with, but slowly became an excruciating trial of endurance.

Was this really worth it? The next time he wasn't sure he would be able to keep ahead, even at the leisurely pace his pursuer made. He knew he would end up down there one way or another. Being caught would mean being touched again. Going down himself would mean submitting. Neither option was acceptable.

But those were the only options. Wrrr, he supposed he could also drown himself, but he didn't consider that one of his choices. So he could fight, or submit. Put that way he certainly knew which he'd rather do, but when fighting ended with the same result but in a less pleasant way…

He took a long breath. If he could tolerate neither option, and there were no others, he should simply take the least degrading choice. From there it was an easy decision that going in on his own power was better than being dragged, as it still implied that he had a measure of control. That it was his decision. Being dragged down said the choice had been made for him.

Hrrr, but he was going to make the most of this while he had it, his parched throat could be grounded.

It wasn't long before Long-Paw shouts lifted his ears. They sounded anxious. Good that he was inconveniencing them, but perhaps not good for him. Steps on the hard floor of the tree-thing. _Already…?_ He whined, not quite ready to give up his freedom. No… he would never be ready, he realised, but it was either that or have it taken from him.

He dropped from his perch on the side of the floating-tree-thing before he could be cornered, then wearily led the Long-Paw around.

_Just go down…_

No! He wouldn't give up his freedom.

_Go down, drink…_

He wanted water… but bitter anger rose in his chest at the sight of the hole into the belly of the tree-thing.

_Give up, rest…_

_I _NOT_ giving up!_ He growled at himself, then felt that _vile_ touch brush his back and leaped forward in a stumble. His legs wobbled, and his wings and tail were dragging. This was it. Fight or submit.

_What would Dreamer do…?_ He hadn't really thought about it before. Dreamer would probably pretend to comply, then escape at the first chance presented to him. Pretend. He could do that…

He dragged himself to the hole, grimacing at the stuffy air drifting out of it. After a moment of thought, he looked straight at the Long-Paw following him and stuck his tongue out at it; it felt like something else Dreamer would do. The surprised look it gave him was well worth it, and he grinned to himself as he dropped down into the darkness. Maybe… this wouldn't be too bad.

He managed to slow his fall with his wings, but landed awkwardly without his tail fins to angle him properly and his legs then crumpled under him in their exhaustion, so he still hit the ground quite hard. After picking himself back up he went and stood in front of the mouth to his little room, but did not go inside. There was no point if he was not given water, something else he would not have been able to control had he fought until the end.

The Long-Paw, having followed him down, seemed to understand and retrieved a fish and some water. Wanderer swallowed heavily, then moved to the side and beckoned for it to pass. It did so without fuss, and emerged from the room a moment later with its paws empty.

As he entered he was half expecting to have to lick the water from the floor, but it was still contained in the thing sat neatly on the tree-surface next to the fish. He clambered up and guzzled it down greedily, only mildly disappointed at hearing the den-mouth close behind him.

* * *

The forest of Berserk concealed a large lake, Dreamer knew, but it wasn't until late into the night that he found it. He bounded forward to dunk his head under the surface, and gulped down the cool and only slightly murky water.

He only stopped when he started to feel bloated, then sat back with a sigh of relief and looked around. The lake was very still in the low light, though the reflections of the dimly lit clouds were a bit scattered. That was a quirk of his eyes though, not the lake. It was ringed by trees, more closely in some areas than others, and… that was about it really.

An aerial view would be much more helpful, but without either of his tail fins he had no hope of flying anywhere. After catching a few rabbits – three of them, all slow, fat, and very tasty – and now quenching his thirst, he was able to devote more of his attention to his predicament.

Pushing away his weariness, he dropped onto his side and brought his tail up to his forepaws to inspect the bindings around the fins. They were uncomfortably tight, now going numb, and there was no chance of slipping them off. There were stitches down either side of each leather strip, but only for strength and probably to hold the two wires in place, picking them would not free him. It wasn't all a single length, but the joins were metal rivets that he couldn't even get a claw under. It smelled as disgusting as any leather, at least with this nose, but he thought he caught a hint of Monstrous Nightmare undertones so it was likely fire resistant too.

He groaned. The Berserkers were dragon hunters, this must be some bright idea to bind their quarry for when they captured instead of killed. Leather, especially dragon leather, would stand up to most fire, and the wire was impervious to claws and teeth. The way it was attached to him also left no one point of failure, he'd need to break through at least three, maybe four places to remove it. They were very practsed at this.

_Focus_. The rivets were quite an odd design, and upon reflection probably weren't quite rivets. There had been no hammering involved, though by wedging the tip of a claw underneath the strap he could definitely feel a flat metal base to match the rounded head on the top. Perhaps they were more like nails, one hollow for the other one to press in to. Regardless, he had little chance of popping any of them without tools. And hands.

The heads of the not-rivets were wide enough to encompass the wire, so he'd not only need to work it through the leather but also work the wire out far enough from each side to get it around the metal head. Actually, he only needed to pick out one side to twist it out. _Grrr_, if he could breathe fire the stitching wouldn't be a problem, but with only his claws it would be difficult and slow work. There were three of these rivets over his tail fins that would need to go to at least let him fly, the remaining two could be taken care of once he was well away from here.

_Groan_. He would start later, sleep was _definitely_ the next task on the agenda. As tempting as it was to fall asleep right there, he was far too exposed near the lake and so pulled himself to his paws with a yawn and trudged back into the forest.

Shelter… He needed to remember he was in Berserker territory, and everything that implied; not that it was difficult with how the forest reeked of them. If he'd thought things were dangerous on Berk then he had been naïve, a momentary lapse in judgement and… He whined, it was painful to think about, but forgetting would make it reality. _Focus, need shelter_…

He wandered the forest for a while, occasionally stumbling over his paws. He could almost believe he was back on Berk, the vegetation and climate were similar – if a bit warmer here – though there were few trails other than rabbits and humans, and the land was not quite as jagged. Thinking about it, he had not seen a single cave yet.

The world began to spin. He couldn't go on anymore, having been awake for far too long. _No, can't just drop here_… He picked up his drooping head, wings, and tail, and gave himself a shake. _Maybe I could climb the mountain, they'd have trouble reaching me up there_. But it was too far away right now.

…It presented an obvious solution though, and he groaned for not thinking of it earlier. It was easy to forget how bad human senses were compared to his own. He _willed_ himself on, summoning the dregs of his reserves, and clawed his way up the nearest tree. He didn't feel comfortable hanging from his tail while this exhausted, and it would stand out, but he was confident that draping himself over some branches near the trunk would make him just another silhouette in the canopy even during the light.

Though a flicker of consciousness remained to monitor the surrounding sounds, he finally allowed himself to succumb to sleep.

* * *

The floating-tree-thing moved in a new way, one that Wanderer was surprisingly familiar with. It was like gliding into a swift landing – or a crash, he supposed – onto loose sand or wet grass, and sliding along it. The sensation of careless floating being replaced by the strict lateral movement of ground. The loud crunching noise directly below him was further proof.

Wherever they had been going, they had arrived.

He didn't know whether they would come for him, but stretched with a yawn and hopped down from the flat-tree-thing. He'd found chewing the legs of the tree-surface helped alleviate the lingering aches in his jaws, and did so again just in case the next place he was taken to did not have something as suitable.

The greedy Long-Paw entered the room shortly after, carrying the hollow not-skin and a length of bindings. The female followed it and closed the door, while the male hit some rocks together to light the smelly metal thing on the wall and chattered casually.

The male then looked at Wanderer expectantly, but the female was still trying to talk to it, and it sternly snapped something back. If only he could understand these stupid words, he might find something to use. Dreamer would know what to do…

Wanderer shook his head, Dreamer wasn't here so he could only use what he had, and while he didn't understand it there was clearly some tension between these two. He buried the observation to paw through later.

Slumping, the female turned to him. "You come, you good," she pointed to the bindings, "you not come," she pointed at the hollow-not-skin.

Another choice. Fight, and be shoved into the cramped and stuffy not-skin, or submit and stretch his legs, maybe learn more about where he was.

Wanderer growled at them, but didn't move. He would much rather fight with everything he had, but without fire, claws, or teeth, that was only his mind and his will. Which should he exercise here?

_Hsss_, he didn't like it, but resisted the urge to bite the paw as the binding was laid over his head and tightened behind his frills. He was not submitting as long as he remained strong in his mind, and sustaining further debility from resisting would only make it more difficult to act on any chances.

The greedy Long-Paw made a _pleased, amused_ sound, then led him out of the floating-tree-thing and back into the light. He was ready to resist at the slightest tug of the binding, show he would not be cowed, but he was left with ample slack as he clambered up the grid of branches, then trudged off the floating-tree-thing and through a small Long-Paw nest.

It smelled dirty, and looked it too. Many of the Long-Paws had sharp pointy teeth like the submissive one, who was now nowhere to be seen. Many had blunt teeth, and perhaps half of those looked worn and broken and paid him no attention. The other half, and all the sharp-teeths, looked at him in an uncomfortable mix of awe, curiosity, and wild glee.

He shied a little from the interest, but tried to ignore them to focus on recognising where he was. He had visited much of this cluster of small-lands under the control of the queen, and likely this one as well if there were Long-Paws here as their nests were the best source of the land-prey she preferred. It was difficult with such a low and limited perspective, and there were a lot of small-lands, so he could only keep looking for some sort of distinctive landmark that he could recognise from the ground. The jagged rock formations narrowed it down at least.

He didn't know how fast the floating-tree-thing had been moving much of the time, but it had been moving a little east of north. The direction wasn't the problem, it was that there was a large expanse of sea with no land in sight that he'd need to fly around, and that meant knowing more accurately where he was.

The female Long-Paw gave him a strange look, one of pride, hope, relief, but also pity and regret. Even now it didn't know who it was. He pointedly locked eyes with it until it looked away again. _Weak_, he thought at it.

After a moment of talking, the two Long-Paws began walking in different directions. Hrrr, the greedy one held the binding so he was clearly meant to follow that one. It led him through a den-mouth, though a pointless one as there was no den on the other side to stop anyone just flying over, then through some caves, and finally into a circular rock-hole not dissimilar to the one at Dreamer's nest. Though, this one still had the web of metal over the top of it.

He didn't like it. He had good memories of the one at Dreamer's nest, but some bad ones too. One where they had locked the fragile Dreamer inside with a Fire-Scale, and another where the rock-head had feebly tried to make him do something before attacking Dreamer. But that Long-Paw was barely a fledgling, this one was experienced and tricky in a very bad way.

Given that they had deprived him of his claws and teeth, it seemed unlikely they wanted him to fight a Fire-Scale. The possibility that left was not any more appealing.

* * *

The sound of footsteps loudly bumbling their way through the forest was not enough to rouse Dreamer from sleep. Not the first time, or the second, or the tenth. They were still prowling-steps, not hunting-steps, and so he remained asleep. What eventually woke him was his belly demanding food.

_How long was I out…?_ He groaned as he extracted himself from the branches to stand on them, his muscles very sore and stiff. Slowly, he stretched out – then hissed in pain, the twitch of the muscles in his tail burning through the numbness and reminding him how _tightly_ the fins were clamped. Food could wait, he needed to address this _now_.

He first tried to work some drool between the leather and his scales to alleviate the chafing, doing his very best to keep the stitching dry. Next he tried to work a claw under the strips, but could not alleviate any of the agonising pressure. It was with a grim resignation he eventually set to work picking the stitches, though the threads were thick, coated in something like wax, and bit deep into the leather, so his progress was slow.

While he worked he checked his internal compass and looked for the sky-fire… finding it setting on the other side of the sky. Apparently he'd slept away half the night and then most of the light. Well, he would be better off moving around in the dark. Probably.

The thread finally frayed and snapped – it had taken almost half an hour – and he felt a brief moment of hope. However, the thread then refused to be pulled through the leather. _What's this stuff _made_ of?_ It was like the ultimate anti-dragon binding. Which was the point, but still, they must spend an awfully long time making it. Which meant he would need to spend a correspondingly long time dismantling it.

He whimpered at how little progress he'd made by the time the sky-fire set, not even half of the way through the first set of stitching. He then needed to work the not-rivet through the leather, and there were two more after that. It was difficult to resist the urge to just bite until the bindings came off, or his tail did.

A thought struck him and he prodded the end of the tail, feeling the sharp tip of his claw and some measure of relief. It wasn't tight enough to cut off the blood, he knew that was a very bad thing if left too long. Wait, could it still be too tight? He wasn't human anymore. It was unlikely it would turn purple… he couldn't even _see_ purple. Well, it was coming off as soon as he could manage it either way, he'd find out then. As long as he still had sensation he should be okay.

With how long this would take, he might as well address the easier ache. He hopped out of the tree – then shrieked as he flipped over backwards, his tail whipping through the air instead of pressing against it. Somehow he managed to right himself enough to land heavily on his tail and paws, grimacing at the pain in the still-healing wound on his leg. _That was stupid_. He gave himself a shake, then began sniffing at the ground for something to eat.

The rabbits infested this forest like a plague, so he would not be left wanting for food at least. He guessed the Berserkers wouldn't be particularly interested in valiantly hunting down the critters, though the image was quite amusing.

He quickly found his own scent in the rotting leaves, and then a second time but stronger. Apparently this was the path he'd taken towards the lake, and then followed back while looking for shelter. He must have been very tired to do that without realising, it was a good thing he didn't follow it all the way back to the Berserker village.

Well, he figured he might as well orient himself by returning to the lake and followed his own overlapping trails, noting the scents of the local wolves following them as well. Sleeping in trees was _definitely_ the way to go if wolves were hunting him.

He stopped, confused. Both his trails ended abruptly. _All_ the trails did, other than the ever-prevalent blanket-scent of leather boots and humans. It took him a few moments to recognise that the ground had been disturbed, though it was well camouflaged. _But why would…_ His eyes widened and he hastily scrabbled backwards, remembering being shown this type of trap long ago. Buried and well hidden, a bit of pressure and steel jaws snapped from the ground to ensnare the unfortunate victim. It would not do him well to be caught in one of those.

Two more were sniffed out on his way back to the lake, and a poorly concealed net trap with the mechanism obviously showing on a nearby tree. Well, obvious to him, but he knew what it was. He considered dismantling it for parts, but he'd need somewhere safe to stash them first and it was probably better to let them think he had not come this way.

Darkness was deeply set over the land by the time he reached the water. After taking another drink he cautiously followed a rabbit trail and dug up the warren, easily filling his belly; he wasn't confident in a chase anymore, not while he knew there were traps.

With one ache fixed, he picked out a nice tall tree to roost in and nestled himself into its branches to return to painstakingly relieving the other.

* * *

Heather eyed the small, sightless Nadder warily as she cut the limp vegetables. It had always bothered her, but now that she knew what a Deadly Nadder was _supposed_ to look like it was even more apparently abnormal. It wasn't actually blind, but its eyes were glazed and blank in an unseeing way and it didn't react to anything going on around it, just sat there and stared forward. It gave her the chills.

She forced her focus back to the task at hand – preparing a meal for her mother. It was something she'd desperately wanted to do since starting to learn, and even the poor quality of ingredients wasn't souring the moment. Nothing grew on Outcast Island, so everything they had was stolen or blackmailed for and would spend days on a boat before reaching the port.

But it was more of a staging ground than an actual home. Outcasts had no home, they lived on the sea and in the shadows. Some lucky few did get to stay in a village, having their brand cut off or scarred beyond recognition then planted similarly to how Heather had been. Threat of exposure kept them as reliable thieves and spies.

"Dear? You were telling me about your friend."

"Right. Sorry." Heather smiled over her shoulder at her mother, who looked a lot older than she should. This place was not good for her.

She left out the parts about the dragons and just described the personalities of the five teens as she worked and served, particularly Astrid, then what it had been like working in the kitchen. This simple soup was a far cry from what she had been making there, but it turned out to be palatable.

Talking with her mother, she could forget everything else. At this table she was _normal_, and she could temporarily escape the hell that was her life. At least, she forgot until Alvin let himself in and 'requested' her assistance.

* * *

Dreamer jolted awake as something impacted with his wing, scoring the surface but harmlessly deflecting away. His eyes snapped open and instantly assessed Dagur drawing another arrow while a medium-built guard watched with interest, that was all he saw in the glimpse he allowed himself before leaping from the tree. He awkwardly swooped to the ground, landing tail-first and slamming onto his chest, but thankfully he had had the foresight to get a paw under his chin so he wasn't too dazed to shove himself away. The next arrow skipped off the ground where he'd just landed.

Heart pounding, his fatigue instantly forgotten, he sprinted through the forest at a tangent to the path to the lake, tail twitching for balance. He needed to find a new area to roam, somewhere far from this one. Perhaps the other side–

Sound behind him prompted him to glance back, and his thoughts fled as he saw Dagur _right behind him_, bounding through the trees and moving more like an animal than a human. Dreamer surged forward with his breath hissing through his mouth, keeping in mind his hunts of the much faster rabbits on Berk and so keeping to as straight a line as possible.

Seeing only trees with a second glance back, he slowed to a moderate lope. _Okay… His endurance isn't as good, but what was with that speed!?_ If he allowed himself to be taken by surprise, Dagur would probably catch him.

He continued at a brisk trot for what was probably about a third of the way around the lake, well away from where Dagur had been hunting him, and slowed to a stop. The beating of his pulse was heavy in his ears, but he pushed it down and tuned it out to focus on the sounds of the forest. Just the rustling of trees and the chattering of birds. He was still uneasy, but there was _no way_ Dagur could move that fast without making noise; it wasn't a matter of skill, human bodies just weren't built for it.

Even still, when he climbed a tall and sturdy tree – it was still early during the light, he'd not had much sleep – he kept watch until his pulse and breathing had slowed, and finally the gripping fear of being hunted began to abate.

He tried to ignore the deep ache in the bottom of his chest, but it was _so painful_. To distract himself he settled himself into the crook of two branches and swung his tail up… but just stared at the one popped not-rivet blankly, the pain rising up his chest until it stung his eyes and nose.

_I not want to be alone here_… Hunching in on himself, he pawed at his face and whimpered himself back to sleep.

* * *

Mere hours after the chase, Dreamer was again roused by the hum of an arrow cutting through the air, then yanked to full alertness by a sharp impact in his shoulder. His thoughts fled as liquid agony leaked into his blood, as if his veins were being shredded, and the torturous pain escalated and spread until he snapped into unconsciousness.

* * *

"You, get this, from there," the female Long-Paw said, setting a small tree-thing down on the ground and then pointing with a paw to a hollow-tree-thing. The greedy Long-Paw watched impassively with a fish in its hand.

Wanderer gave them both a flat look, but his gaze kept going back to the fish. _I just need survive next cold-season…_ He inspected the small tree-thing. A bit smaller than his ear, it had clearly been cut from a tree or branch with some purpose in mind but he couldn't work out what. And how could he fetch it from over there if it was here? Crazy Long-Paw thinking. Wrrr, he'd work it out. He padded over to the hollow-tree-thing, finding it full of other small-tree-things. _Huff_. He put his nose to work, but they were all cut from the same type of tree, perhaps even the same tree. Maybe the shape was important? They were all somewhat different.

No, he was overthinking this. He walked around the hollow-tree-thing and pushed it with his nose towards the two Long-Paws, to the greedy one's tempered laughter. On one wind, he did not like doing what this Long-Paw wanted. On another wind, he was _very_ hungry… and the Long-Paw promptly produced a second fish and tossed them both across the rock-hole. Wanderer was careful not to show his hunger or impatience as he padded over and gulped them down, but couldn't help giving a quiet and brief purr as the fierce ache in his belly subsided.

He gave up trying to decipher their chatter and dismissed them with a flick of his tail; whether they recognised the gesture or not was irrelevant. As they left, he reflected on the attitudes they showed towards each other, and connected the female's hunted demeaner to this greedy one. He tried to imagine what Dreamer might do in this situation.

_Dreamer_… He _sorely_ missed his friend-mate and the comfort they gave each other, and desperately hoped they would see each other again. Dropping onto his side and resting his head on his tail, he let himself drown in the sadness that was heavy in his blood. It hurt in his body as much as in his mind, but compared to his current situation… it was a comforting hurt.

* * *

Dreamer woke in fits of blinding agony, flashes of consciousness in which he could do little more than groan, whimper, and suffer. The fits gradually became less severe until he could remain awake, though his breaths were sharp and his body tense as he grit his teeth through the pain throughout his body, which was slower in abating.

Eventually he became aware of other things. The cage he was in. Norse words, though not what they were. The mixed and laden smells of a village. Occasionally Dagur would peer through the bars, grin maniacally, and disappear again.

He tried to move his rigid and stiff muscles, stretch them, get his blood moving. Maybe it would help to disperse the… well, he supposed it was poison of some kind. He growled, why let him go only to catch him again? Dagur really was just playing dragon hunter. Despicable brute.

His tail lashed angrily, painfully cracking through its stiffness. He didn't care, pushing through it to crane his neck to inspect his wound. It didn't appear all that deep, just enough for the tip of the arrow to pierce through his hide. He made to see if he could reach it to lick, but the smell burned his nose and bubbled in his muscles; that might not be a good idea.

"Yurr up! HA! Knue yood mekk it." Dreamer spun and _snarled_ at the sudden voice, pressing his nose to the bars of the cage. Dagur practically had his own nose to the bars, but didn't even flinch. "Yehs! S'ow me yoor _faiht!_" His expression flicked to bored. "But savfe it for latur."

The cage was lifted, Dreamer continuing to growl while the sounds and smells of the village faded and those of the forest neared. Again the cage was set down on the ground and the door opened. He shot out and lunged at Dagur, his claws and teeth _aching_ for blood, but his quarry just twisted and dodged and laughed as he moved.

Dreamer slashed wildly, hissing and snarling, until Dagur suddenly _shrieked_ something at him and pointed at the forest. The fight left him abruptly and he backed up a few paces. What was he _doing?_ There was no way he could fight Dagur. Something… something was wrong.

He hissed at Dagur a last time and sprinted for the trees, then followed his original path – taking a few shortcuts – back to the lake. He remained wary of traps along the way, but it was difficult to remain focused; his thoughts kept drifting back to gutting Dagur and eating his heart.

Finally, the trees opened up in front of him and the shimmering surface of the lake came into view, and he sprinted forward to gulp down the cool water – then promptly threw it all back up. Grimacing, he tried again a little more slowly, then inspected the wound above his shoulder again. After some thought he sat in the shallows so that he could reach up with his hind paw.

He splashed the wound and rubbed it to clear the blood away, and then inspected it again. Grrr, that had been a poisoned arrow, he needed to clean it properly. Growling, he dragged a claw through the wound to clear out the clot, then rinsed it and repeated. It didn't hurt, strangely, at least not more than it did already.

Satisfied, he licked the wound clean until it stopped bleeding. At some point the throbbing had been replaced with only the lacerating pain of the cut, so that had probably been a good move. It didn't smell or taste foul anymore either, which was a relief.

Between the poison no longer trickling into his blood and the water in his belly, he felt a little less tense. Even further after relieving himself. The desire to attack and kill slowly dissipated, replaced with a nauseous regret for the thoughts. He had to fight down the urge to sick up the water again.

_I should eat something_… He didn't really have a reason behind the thought other than it felt right. The water sloshing around his empty stomach was only part of it. _Wait… empty?_ It was now evening, but he'd hunted right before sleeping; he'd been out of it for at least a whole day.

Groaning, he began trotting around the lake, away from where Dagur apparently resided and in the opposite direction as last time. Again about a third of the way around, and with darkness now creeping over the island, he put his nose to the ground and began hunting. There didn't seem to be any traps around here, which was good as it allowed him to chase his catch and burn off the lingering effects of the poison. He was faster than the rabbits on this island, and simply ran one down without even trying to sneak up on it.

As he pounced and dug his claws into its fur, he had to admit he took more feral joy in the kill than usual. A lot more. He was sure to give it a merciful death at least, distantly hoping the poison would fully wear off soon. He couldn't think straight like this.

The second rabbit that disappeared down his gullet provided something closer to his usual thrill of the hunt, which was good. He should be back to normal in no time, all that was left was to sleep it off.

He looked around at the muted colours of the land. He was a _lot_ harder to see at night, so maybe it was safer to sleep with that camouflage and move around during the day when he was more alert. He picked out a tall tree with good branches and clawed his way up it, now both his shoulder _and_ his leg painful under the strain.

Despite recently being out for a full day, despite his tension, his abating but still present aggression, when he nestled into the crook of a forked branch he found himself quickly drifting into sleep.

* * *

Nine – or maybe ten – souls tried to find comfort in each other in the training ring, five teens leaning against their dragons in silence. They had taken to the ring early in the morning with the intention of training, but even the dragons were moping. Stormfly in particular.

Stoick was throwing himself at maintaining and building up the village, though with none of his usual fire or enthusiasm.

A week. It had been a week since the Furies had been taken. A week since Berk had failed the legacy of the hero it had also failed.

"Guys," Ruffnut's voice cracked the rigid silence. "We need to do something."

"We _did_ something," Snotlout mumbled. "We did a lot. It didn't work. They're still gone."

"No, I mean, we can't just sit here moping."

"Watch me," Tuffnut shot back.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about! We're _better_ than this. If we're not moving on, then we need to move up. Or step up, or whatever." She locked eyes with Astrid with the grim resolve of someone who was about to reach into a dragon's maw to stab it through the roof of its mouth. "What would _Hiccup_ do?"

That lit a fire under Astrid so fast she startled Stormfly as she leapt to her feet, then stared with her jaw muscles bulging and a fierceness her eyes had forgotten. Ruffnut did not wither at the malice directed at her.

The staring contest ended with Astrid taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders. "She's right," she said quietly but firmly, "we're not done yet. Since when have we not fought with everything we had, right to the last? We faced hardships with the dragon raids, and we're still here. We faced down the dragon queen, and we're still here. We faced a Berserker army five times that of ours, and _we're still here_." Her voice slowly gained volume and determination as she went on. "Until it's confirmed, there's still hope. We need to be ready to act on the smallest lead, the faintest clue.

"And if it comes to the worst… then we grieve, and then we move on. Because that's what we do. Because we're _Vikings_. Because we're… _Dragon Riders!_"

There were no cheers… but the fire had spread to the nine other faces.

* * *

Wanderer knew the flight by now. He even sort of looked forward to it, in a despicable way, because he had very little else to do. The two Long-Paws would come to him, there'd be a brief argument, then the greedy one would tell him to do something while the female translated.

The tasks varied. Sometimes it was as simple as to move to places they pointed at a pawful of times, sometimes as complex as moving small objects in incomprehensible ways which occasionally took him a few tries to get right. All the while he observed and learned, beginning to make some sense of their language.

Though they said a lot with their bodies, it was apparently not real words. Of their actual words, they weren't consistent in how they were said either, so he'd only picked up a few; 'come', 'go there', and 'I want that thing' he more or less had down. Not very useful, but it was a start, and something to build on. He'd already known 'fish', 'food', and 'it's time to eat food', which were mentioned occasionally as well, accompanied by a command.

"Hear," the female Long-Paw said, and pointed at the greedy one.

"_Come_," said the greedy one with its click and hum.

Wanderer looked blankly between them, giving no indication that he was learning; let them underestimate him, whatever advantage he could get. "What?" he asked, then had to stifle a grin as they bickered between each other.

"You, here," the female said, and he dutifully trotted over only to be sent away again in the same way. He was surprised to be tossed a piece of fish – but only a piece of one. Hrrr, but he hadn't needed to do as much for it. He still didn't like it, this was incomprehensible Long-Paw thinking, he had no idea what it could accomplish… and that only made him more uneasy.

The male then tossed something – another small-tree-thing by the sound of it striking the stone – to the other side of the rock-hole, then said "_I-want-that_."

_If you want it, why you throw it?_ He cocked his head at the female again.

"You get that," she said tensely, and he unhurriedly padded over to obey. It was looking like the female was unsuccessfully trying to get the male to ask him, which made more sense the more he thought about it. They were obviously trying to teach him their words as well, but he was – as far as they knew – refusing to learn. It was getting frustrated, stuck between him and the greedy Long-Paw with neither side willing to budge. He might have felt sorry for it, were it not a despicable nest-thief.

He dropped the small-tree-thing – covered in as much saliva as he could achieve – in front of them and absently received the rest of the fish, dismissing them again with a flick of his tail to mull over his observations.

* * *

Opening his eyes to find the ground several body-lengths away was a bit of a surprise to Dreamer, one he still wasn't quite used to. This morning was a particular shock due to how his head had been dangling and so it was literally the first thing he'd seen.

After an only mildly uncomfortable moment for his body to work out that it wasn't falling, he blinked himself awake and began his morning stretch, again hissing in pain as he forgot his tail fins were–

He froze.

_No_…

His breath became heavy, and he determinedly stared ahead. It didn't have to be true if he didn't look.

But it _would_ be true, he knew. He still had to get off this cursed island, which meant doing something about the bindings around his tail. Something that his captors would be unhappy about. Something that his captors would – and he slowly swung his tail around to confirm they _had_ – do their best to prevent.

The bindings had been repaired, the wire sewn back into the leather and thin washers put on the not-rivet.

_Focus_. He took a deep, slow breath, and inspected the repair. It probably wouldn't be any more difficult to undo, but it had taken well over a day to break through _one_ not-rivet. Breaking all three at that rate would take nearly five days, maybe four. He would need to avoid capture for that long.

There was also a chance the bindings would be strengthened if he kept getting caught, so he needed to plan, to stay ahead and alert.

Dagur gave him the first day free, and he made steady progress on the binding. At night, tucked into the crook of another branch, he slept peacefully without interruption and woke before dawn.

After stretching and descending – this time remembering both not to try to flex his tail fins, and also to take more care gliding down – he hunted down a particularly plump rabbit, then tracked it back to its warren which he dug up for what was probably its mate. He felt a little bad about that, but he needed to eat, and many prey-things he and Wanderer had caught would have had mates and perhaps offspring of their own. It was not within his power to change the nature of that.

The ever-present pain of his solitude flared and tried to sap the strength from him. He wanted to just find a hiding place and wait for Wanderer to come and get him…

But that was unreasonable. He was here, alone, and however much that hurt he needed to push through it.

He cleaned his claws and face, then after a moment's hesitation, the rest of himself as well. It was a nice change of pace, and if he let his scales dull he would be easier to see. There was something therapeutic about the act as well, and he didn't feel _quite_ as miserable afterwards.

Finding some nice dense bracken to hide in, he set back to work clawing out the threads, firmly dragging the sharp point of a claw across the indents. It was slow and tedious work, and though he couldn't afford to let his guard down he couldn't prevent his mind from drifting. Curled up with Wanderer in their new den. Cupping the fingers in his wings around the air to power up to great heights, and then soaring on the thermals. Playing with Tuffnut and occasionally the kids. The occasions they would play while Stoick watched, then curl up in his lap and purr as his great hands caressed them.

He _would_ have all that back.

* * *

The greedy Long-Paw tossed a small wooden thing across the ground hole, trying to hide something in its expression. What, Wanderer wasn't quite sure, but it was just a little too straight and relaxed to be natural.

"_Come_," it clicked and hummed at him.

He looked back at the thing, then at the Long-Paw. It always wanted him to fetch the thing when it was thrown, now it didn't? And why did it look so happy?

"You hear, you know," the female said in what was pretty close to a growl, for a Long-Paw.

"What?" he asked her, still confused.

"_I-want-that_," the greedy one corrected himself, then looked at him smugly.

Despite his efforts, Wanderer couldn't quite hide his realisation that he'd just betrayed his understanding.

* * *

Creeping through the trees, eyes and ears sharp, deep and silent breaths, an arrow nocked and ready to draw. The beast had originally been sleeping through the day, but on a hunch Vella had staked out the lake from a tree near where the Night Fury had last been known to be. Her diligence had paid off as it approached for water in the late evening, though too far away to hit from the branch she had perched on.

Dagur was _furious_, a disagreement had broken out between two of the clans that had threatened to escalate to a full on war and he'd been forced to intervene, then the rain through the night had further complicated things. The Chief had simply told her to catch it – stressing not to kill it, on pain of death – and make sure its bindings were holding up.

_Clever beast_, it had very quickly analysed and begun dismantling the supposedly dragon-proof straps. They would need to catch it every few days to make ensure it remained grounded, which Dagur had been planning on doing anyway.

Though she swore to Odin, if he told her 'it's not every day you can hunt a Night Fury' _one more time_ she was going to throw his axe into the lake.

But that led to their current predicament. It needed catching soon, or it was at risk of escaping. Not necessarily today, but Vella agreed they shouldn't risk it. So here she was, stalking it in the woods.

By a stroke of luck she caught sight of it before it noticed her, trotting along through the trees. It was a rare opportunity to observe it behaving naturally, and she watched curiously as it stopped and inspected the ground, then leaned on its forelegs and made short digging motions with a scraping noise. After several iterations of these movements it inspected its claws, gave a satisfied shake and then started on its back paws.

She had moments only, and levelled the bow. It was smaller than her favourite, and less powerful, but it would do the job here. With a smooth and practised motion, she drew the string back to her cheek.

_Creak_

The dragon was instantly alert, looking directly at her with its ears pointing straight up before the arrow had even cleared the bow, then at some point between then and the arrow crossing the distance, it just… vanished. One moment it was staring at her with those slit green eyes, the next it was simply gone. She couldn't even hear it moving through the forest.

With a glare at the traitorous bow, she began trudging back to the village. She'd underestimated it and it was now long gone, they would just need to catch it tomorrow.

Dagur wouldn't be happy; he _hated_ cheating.

* * *

The female Long-Paw still accompanied the greedy Long-Paw, but she no longer translated a command more than a pawful of times. It was made clear that the alternative was to go hungry.

He mostly had a grasp on the things they wanted of him though. Find a smell, find a thing that looks similar, take a thing away, and a pawful more simple commands. They even had him start biting things, not that he could do any damage but they seemed happy that he tried.

"_Go there, bark, I-want-that_," the greedy one commanded, pointing. He'd already received his usual share today – which seemed to be taking longer and longer – so he wasn't really hungry, but even under normal circumstances he would take food while it was there. He casually did as asked, rolling his eyes at the happy and encouraging noises the despicable Long-Paws offered him as he finished.

They didn't move to feed him which meant there'd probably be another command, so he lowered himself to the ground to wait. Hrrr, the greedy one was talking to the female, which looked bored, he got comfortable as they would probably be a little while. Very few of the words made sense, he did his best to pick them apart but soon became bored himself.

_Finally_ they left him in peace, and he lowered his head to his paws to sleep.

* * *

Panting lightly, Dreamer loped through the now-familiar trees with an unhurried but steady pace. The air wasn't quite as heavy with moisture as the previous day, when the sky-fire had shone on the ground wet from the rain, but it was still a little humid and made it difficult to cool off. Maybe after he shook his pursuers he would take a quick dip in the lake.

The loose bindings slapped stiffly against his tail, just half a set of stitching and the last not-rivet to pull through, which he _would_ have managed today if these hunters had given him a chance. They were _very_ persistent, and it was lucky he hadn't blundered into a trap yet.

He hadn't actually seen all that many traps since the second day, though there'd been one or two close calls. Still, he was in high spirits. Dagur – he assumed that's who was following him – was relentless today because he had to have guessed how close he was to freeing himself.

_Huff_, if this is the best they had, then there was little to worry about. His first capture had been a fluke, somehow finding him while he slept, but remaining alert during the day with his superior senses had kept him out of Berserker hands.

All this running would leave him very tired, but he was confident he'd have enough energy left to free his tail and then fly up to the mountain to sleep; it had proven too sheer to climb anywhere to provide safety, but that same barrier would keep him safe long enough to recover when he could fly up it.

That just meant avoiding Dagur until night fell, just a little longer.

He stopped and perked his ears, quickly picking out his pursuers _still_ crashing through the forest after him, breaking undergrowth and rustling leaves.

Wait… something was wrong. The pursuit was much faster and closer now, but it didn't sound right. It actually sounded more like a–

The confidence bled out of him in a heartbeat, leaving him empty and cold, and his paws scrabbled for purchase before he even knew what he was doing. _Stupid stupid STUPID!_ Panic gripped his throat as he fled, thoughts barely keeping up with his body.

Finding him in a tree on the second day, _twice_. The positions of the traps. How Dagur always seemed to be right behind, following his movements. The rabbits here, slow and fat with no predators to hunt them. No predators. _There were no wolves in this forest._

The bellows he had for lungs worked an enormous amount of air through him to maintain his top speed, but he found a little more when deep barking sounded behind him and he anxiously cast a glance back to see two hunting dogs gaining fast.

It wasn't even close to enough, each bark was a little louder and closer to his tail. They looked a bit like wolves, but their features weren't as sharp, their noses were larger, and their ears flapped wildly as they ran. Their legs were also slightly longer than that a wolf's, and much longer and faster than his own. He could only follow his instincts, using the terrain and his agility to pull ahead in short bursts, but it was gradually overcome.

His lungs burned, his legs grew stiff, his shoulders ached, even his claws were sore from digging in for traction so much, but every guttural bark needled at his ears and sent a little more panic-induced strength through his bones.

Abruptly, something pressed onto his back and threw him out of his stride, and the sky and ground switched places several times in quick succession. He kicked blindly and sent something tumbling over him, then flipped to his paws and darted backwards with a warning hiss.

Neither dog hesitated, scrabbling after him with deadly snarls–

He was grabbed by the back of the neck, and then the world spun wildly as he was thrown from side to side. The pricks of pain from the teeth shallowly piercing his hide were quickly dulled by a crippling dizziness that held him on the edge of unconsciousness, and his stomach rolled and churned.

He couldn't struggle, couldn't even move, only whimper feebly as he was awkwardly dragged through the damp leaves.


	17. Tempering

_**Author's Notes**_

_This week, A Gift of Wings reached 100 reviews! Thank you everyone for getting to this point, and to 100th reviewer Jackson who was also incidentally my first guest reviewer. If you thought last chapter was a good cliffhanger... Well, I won't say too much as you're about to start reading it._

* * *

Dreamer clawed at the flat base of the cage in frustration, uncaring of if it blunted the sharp tips. The hideous snapping, clicking and cutting noises that accompanied the renewing pressure around his tail were just rubbing sand on the burn, though he knew it wasn't what it sounded like his body still reacted instinctively.

He glanced back to see if watching would lessen the needling each sound had on his spine, but he couldn't see properly and quickly looked away before he saw the thin man take a pair of pliers to him. His imagination still ran away from him, and he stopped clawing to curl up a little around the sick feeling in his stomach. The stink of the leatherworker's shop wasn't helping.

His tail was eventually released, and he pulled it back in with a slow resignation. He barely bothered to look up when Dagur started talking through the bars, just directed a snort at him and turned his back. The Berserker laughed, then picked up the cage and started walking. Dreamer really couldn't be bothered puzzling out what he was saying as they went.

As before, he was roughly shaken out of the cage at the edge of the forest, but this time there was no rage or panic to spur him on. He wearily pulled himself to his paws and gave Dagur a flat look – receiving a considering look back – and trudged into the forest, exhausted and in low spirits.

* * *

Dagur watched the black dragon go, feeling very strange. His Night Fury was restrained again, the clans were quiet, and nothing required his immediate attention. It wasn't a lack of purpose he felt, but he had no desperate need to leap into a fray and violently kill something. Relaxed? Was that the word for this? It was nice.

It wandered into the forest, not yet broken but worn out and tired. That was good, he wasn't done with it yet; though he _was_ looking forward to his new hat. At least until he no longer needed the dogs to catch it. Hmm, but how tired, he wondered? He walked in after it, keeping his distance but not bothering to hide himself, and only made it a few steps before its ears went up. It looked back and regarded him coolly, and he it, then after a few moments it snorted and resumed walking.

He followed it casually along the narrow path, easily picking it out in the afternoon light as it walked with its head bowed. It would fall to one of the traps at this rate, this path was littered with them – but then it stopped, carefully skirted around an innocent section of dirt, and resumed walking on the other side. It gave Dagur a better look at it in the process, and he understood now that it wasn't simply bowing its head but was rather sniffing the ground.

That explained how it had been avoiding the snares so far, despite them being hidden with painstaking care. They could replace dirt and leaves, but not scents. Of course! It was so obvious now. But then again, he'd never pitted himself against a dragon that was so… careful. How _fun!_ He would need to be even more creative in his hunting, and a challenge was always appreciated.

It was no wonder nobody had managed to take down a Night Fury yet, combining this intelligence with the raw strength and power of an adult… But this was why he'd wanted them alive, after all. It was especially good that he'd not needed to find out if breaking its wings would break its mind, like it did to other dragons. Almost worth losing the other one.

He was tempted to lead a hunt for wherever that wretched man had taken his other Night Fury, but it would mean losing time with this one. Maybe after it was broken. He could even wear his new hat! At the very least, learning the habits of this one should allow him to track down more in future.

The dragon got distracted by something and veered off the path, nosing its way between the scattered ferns and clumps of grass, and eventually stopped nowhere in particular to dig. Before long there was a sudden jolt of movement, and a squeal briefly rang in the air before being cut off by a crunching noise. Another bonus, culling the vermin that infested the forest, though since dogs had been bought, bred and trained to guard the fields they were less of an issue.

It was an efficient hunt, anyway. Dagur doubted the beast was in any condition to chase the critters, just as it wasn't in any condition to escape his casual observance. He'd not even been chasing it for half the day before letting the dogs loose, clearly its endurance was low; a weakness to exploit. Hmm, that made sense, it weighed about the same as one of his hounds despite being significantly smaller. A trade-off for so much raw strength in a small frame. Dagur understood that all too well, his own smaller and denser frame was a massive advantage over the slow and cumbersome bulk of most Vikings.

The Night Fury led him to the lake and scooped up a mouthful of water to gulp down, then rolled in the shallows. It seemed very determined to completely ignore him, because it then began cleaning itself. Curious, he approached it, but it appeared to find something interesting and wandered away. It just so happened to stop and resume cleaning when he stopped walking towards it.

Dagur grinned as he left it in the waning light; it had a lot of fight left in it yet.

* * *

Ears pricking at approaching steps, Wanderer lifted his head to watch the two Long-Paws enter the rock-hole, then yawned widely to show his displeasure at having been woken this early.

"_Take this there, lay down, come here_." He didn't bother to fully wake up as he did as told, just kept his hearing trained on them and dozed off between commands and securing fish in his aching belly.

* * *

On the evening of the third day since his last capture, Dreamer again found himself running from the hounds for all he was worth. They could run faster and for longer, he knew, but he figured his only chance was the lake.

He'd been careful, using the water to break up his trails, but it had only delayed them.

Breath hissing through his teeth, his straining legs finally carried him out of the trees, then across the field and into the water. The barking behind him muted as he submerged, awkwardly paddling and doing his best to weave to deeper waters; without his tail fins, he was slower than he'd been as a human.

Impacts with the water sounded behind him, and soon after he was again grabbed by the neck, thrashed from side to side, and carried limply back to Dagur.

* * *

_Fetch the thing. Take the thing away. Fish. Fly up to there. Come here. Fish. Go there. Find a thing that looks like this one._

Peace.

* * *

Dreamer's blood ran cold as howling sounded not far away, and getting closer, from the direction of the lake. He spared only a moment to stare dejectedly at his tail, on which he'd again reached the last set of stitching.

He almost gave up, but the thought of those teeth biting down on his neck… His body moved on its own, digging his claws into the ground to speed away – right into Dagur, whose hand slipped off his wing but latched onto his tail. The momentum nearly pulled Dagur to the ground, but his stance was firm enough to remain standing and lift him into the air.

Dreamer snarled and curled upwards, teeth bared and aimed at the arm holding him, but he was dropped to the ground where a thick boot instantly knocked the wind from him. When he was picked up by his tail again, he could do nothing more than hang there with a groan.

* * *

Flying. He could almost imagine he was flying, looping through the clouds and roaring with joy. Closing his eyes in a dive and trusting in his hearing-sight to see the ground.

He opened his eyes – they were immediately assaulted by a harsh drumming and were forced closed again.

Flying. Soaring. _Free_.

His eyes opened again, this time to clear air. He looked up at the sky, the large sky-ice lighting the thick clouds from above. Flying had been a nice dream…

_Dream… Dream…?_

_…Dreamer…?_

He wanted to go flying with Dreamer. It had been a long time.

_Where Dreamer…?_

The darkness in his head lifted a little. Dreamer… His friend-mate, his life-bonded partner, wasn't with him. _Why…?_ They had been separated… many nights ago…

He pawed at his head, blinking in surprise at feeling the blunt claws rake down his face. _What… happening to me…?_

All these questions fanned the embers of his thoughts, coaxing them back to life. _Dreamer in danger… Why I not fighting?_

_Because I in danger also…_

Wanderer shook his head, breathing hard, then pulled himself to his paws to stalk around the damp rock-hole. His thoughts, his fire, ebbed back into him as he snorted out his breaths and lashed his tail. His body _ached_ from disuse, his hide felt rough and raw, and his first attempt at a roar of defiance was pitifully weak.

But more importantly, the ground was wet, _he_ was wet, and yet he couldn't remember it raining.

He wasn't strong enough to fight this way.

* * *

Dreamer was following the scent of a rabbit back to its burrow when something suddenly and painfully _snapped_ around his leg with a metallic roar that sent him leaping back in a panic. With a foreleg anchored to the ground, he abruptly jolted to a halt in the air and landed on his chest, wrenching his leg the wrong way.

He whimpered as he got to his paws, both his leg and his shoulder now aching, then cringed at the distant howling. The dogs must be trained to react to the sound. _Great_…

Trying to pry the jaws open did barely anything, and he quickly worked out they were ratcheted; they could close, but not open. Tenderly, so as to not encourage the trap's teeth any deeper into his leg, he dug the dirt away from the trap – it had been removed and replaced as a single piece, so that the scents were not as disturbed – and found the release lever, but it moved up rather than down.

He was still trying to stand, hold the lever up and pry the jaws open when he heard Dagur casually approaching. There wasn't any point in resisting, he couldn't get out of this himself.

* * *

"_You do!_" Heather implored the dragon, but it just lay there taking even, measured breaths. Alvin had left her to herself for over a week now – insisting she hang around just in case – but had suddenly called her in again to find a very defiant and angry Night Fury. They had successfully trained it, it would do bidding without needing to be bribed, but apparently that morning it had woken up and fully regressed to a wild animal.

And now, three days later, it still would not obey at all even if it starved.

"It will die at this rate," she said neutrally. That might actually be a preferable outcome, as then there could be nothing more he wanted from her.

"Obviously, idiot girl, eating nothing will kill _anything_ sooner or later. Tell it this is its last chance."

"That doesn't really translate as far as I know, you need to–"

"Just tell it," he flatly cut her off.

Schooling her features straight, she tried to piece together what he had said in Dragonese. "_Hey! You do now, you eat. You not do…_" She had to leave the threat hanging, she didn't really know what Alvin intended to do and no idea how to convey a general threat.

"_Eh, eh, eh_," it laughed weakly.

"Well, that's your answer," she sighed.

Alvin stroked his moustache thoughtfully. "It fights us again. Apparently, we didn't break it hard enough."

* * *

With his breath heavy in his ears, Dreamer threw himself at the gnarly bark of a large tree and scampered up it faster than he knew he was capable of. The snarling behind him reminded him to hold his tail up and out of harm's way.

He was realistic, however, and didn't bother climbing to the top. Just to the first branch, which he climbed around on top of and stalked out along to a wide fork, through which he hissed at the beasts below. But he was realistic, and there was little feeling in it. Curling into a tight ball in the crook of the fork, he sobbed while he waited for the arrow that inevitably struck him in the flank; it was surely a much more painful way to go, but he just couldn't bring himself to be taken by the dogs again.

At least the poison might put some fire back into his blood.

* * *

Wanderer was no stranger to pain, and this was nothing compared to having his tail fin torn off. It wasn't even much compared to the pain in his empty belly. A few shallow cuts, and he was left alone to lick the hurts.

Snorting the scent from his nose, he relaxed back onto his side and closed his eyes – but then the smell of old fish caught his attention. He lifted his head and looked around, finding a few had been dropped at the other side of the rock-hole.

It was suspicious, and he looked around for any sort of trick, but there appeared to be none. He remained wary as he got to his paws and limped over. The discovery of a binding around his neck was a surprise, and strange that the long tail did not appear attached to anything, but it didn't stop him reaching the fish – and then he could contain his impatience no longer and eagerly snapped the meal down.

He doubted this was the end of their new battle of wills… but this was evidence they wanted him alive. All he needed to do was not lose himself again.

As he rapidly digested the meal and he began to think more clearly, he realised that meant living for something more than surviving the cold-season.

* * *

With his nose to the ground, Dreamer followed the thick smell of rabbit through the trees. He kept a very sharp eye for traps as he went, looking and smelling for any disturbed ground, until he caught sight of his quarry.

It hadn't noticed him yet, though it was very still – it might have heard him approaching. He slowed his pace and crouched low, preferring an easy–

He was suddenly picked up by the scruff of his neck and held aloft before Dagur, who had appeared to have smeared most of his body with mud. "Yoo noe, I'm goeng to gett borrd if you maek thss too easy."

Dreamer snarled at him, but was dropped before he could react – without thinking, he threw out his wings to remain in the air and slashed at Dagur's face, feeling his claws bite through the skin. His second flap threw him backwards, out of Dagur's reach, and he twisted in the air to land at a run.

Dagur's mad laugh and gleeful shouts followed him quite a distance into the trees.

* * *

Pushing down the nausea building in her stomach, Heather pointedly ignored Alvin as he wiped his thin knife with a rag. Her ears rang in the silence, as if the shrill sounds were still echoing off the walls.

His too-charming grin, however, could be seen across his vague figure at the edge of her vision. "This is a setback, but fear not. It'll break, and then you and your mother can be on your merry way! You must be looking forward to it."

She hummed an agreement, but didn't get up when he stood and walked to the edge of the 'training' ring. Maybe he hesitated, maybe he didn't, but the sounds of the inner gate opening and closing, then the outer gate, confirmed he'd left without her.

She just stared at the Night Fury as it awkwardly shuffled away from her, using its wings and tail for support. It looked pathetic. "_Hey_," she grunted bitterly, and it stopped and swung its head around to watch her with a single green eye. "_Why you fight?_"

It snorted at her. "_Why you not?_" She was sure her face remained still, but its eye lit up and it turned to face her, laying half on its side with a dark amusement in its expression. "_I not know what he say,_" it said condescendingly slowly with a gesture at the closed gate, "_but I know he not do what say_." Despite her composure, she felt her eye twitch, and it gave a low and haughty laugh. _"You know. You…_" It looked at her thoughtfully, then tilted its head to gesture at the rope around its neck with an eerily human smile creeping along its mouth.

She blew air between her tongue and teeth in an approximation of a hiss, which it only seemed to find funny, and stormed out of the ring, slamming the gates shut on the way through.

* * *

Dreamer tumbled out of the cage and onto the grass.

He didn't bother getting up. What was the point? He was just Dagur's plaything, a toy to chase around the forest. Dagur was only getting better at chasing him down, and even with that aside he could not escape the hounds.

Every part of his body hurt. His muscles ached from overexertion, the three most recent arrow wounds stung their complaint in varying degrees as his movements stretched them, his neck just plain hurt both in hide and bones, and his tail ached so fiercely and constantly that he barely even noticed it anymore.

Dagur nudged him with a boot. "Hey. Yoo dunn?" _What's the point…_ "Gess it's taim for a neww hat! HAHA!" He picked Dreamer up by the scruff of his neck and carried him back towards the village with his tail dragging through the dirt.

Sadness welled in Dreamer's heart, just another hurt on the pile. He'd had a good flight as a Nightstriker, though not nearly as long as he'd expected. If it meant living on like this though, being hunted almost every day and living in fear all the time…

Dagur kept talking amiably as he walked. "I'm thinkingg of mownting your skull on my helm't, but it mait get damaged. Maybe jusst your scales? They're pretty strongg. OOH, I koud be 'Dagur the Dark'! Some pauldrons tu go with it." He giggled like a child in the armoury, and a sick churning rolled in Dreamer's gut to match his despair. "I'll need themm done quicklee, thenn whe cann sthart hhuntting fhor your bruhthurh. Hah, you'll geht tu sei hhim againn!"

Dreamer forgot his pain. All of it. The thought of Wanderer looking up to see Dagur approaching, wearing his head as a helmet, broke what was left of his heart. Dagur wearing Night Fury scale armour while he chased Wanderer through these forests, over and over… It was beyond cruel and horrific, especially with what Wanderer had already been through.

He… He couldn't allow that.

His muscles found something to burn, he twisted and thrashed in the grip that held him to become a wild storm of claws and scored a few shallow gashes on Dagur's leg. It got him dropped, and a gleeful laugh sounded behind him as he bolted between the fields and into the trees.

Panting heavily, he eventually slowed to a stop at the lake. _Can't allow that can't allow that can't allow that!_ It was all he could think, and he curled up to drag his paws over his head and whine and keen his despair at the vile thoughts. He couldn't stop imagining Wanderer's expression at meeting Dagur wearing his lifeless head and skin, in countless scenarios, and each one tore him to pieces anew.

It was a long time before he collected himself, shakily pulling himself to his haunches. He felt empty, depleted, bare. Free of everything that had been jamming the gears in his mind.

Gears of cold logic that were now whirring to life.

His top priority was preventing Dagur from keeping his body. Jumping into the ocean or burying himself in the lakebed had a decent probability of success, but not a guarantee, and he could think of no other means of ending himself. That just meant he needed to escape.

Swinging his tail around in front of him, he gave his head a shake and narrowed his eyes at the bindings. It took too long to dismantle them with his claws, and Dagur was sure to catch him regularly. He needed a way to break through them in a single night.

_Stop thinking in terms of what I have. What do I need?_ Hands, for one. _No, I don't. Hands are a means, not an end_. He needed to cut through the bindings. For that he would need a pair of cutters. Several plans for how to use cutters with his paws flicked through his mind, but they would all need hands to set up. The required leverage was too great to just wedge them somewhere and lean on them, they would need to be secured to something and he was incapable of doing that.

_What else could I use?_ Fire. He had no fire of his own, and couldn't use flint even if he had any. _Can't make fire, so find it_. He could take some from a village, but filed that aside to plan separately after some scouting, if he came up with something. A simple torch was all he would be capable of carrying, which would not be even close to hot enough, but someone would notice if he lit a forge.

A plan came together, simple on paper though no doubt the execution would be more difficult. It was risky… but then again, Dagur seemed to want to keep him alive only as long as he fought back. The alternative was dying anyway. And if he was careful, everything could be handled innocently without belying his knowledge and intelligence.

* * *

The command was easy enough to ignore. Wanderer growled at the Long-Paws, then fought the pull on the bindings around his neck. He was dragged forward regardless, and each time it was more painful, but it was necessary. He would fight until his last breath if needed.

His claws raked harmlessly over any skin that neared him before he was heavily pinned, the touch again overwhelming his senses. That was good, it meant he was still rejecting them. Another blinding gash of agony before he was released, and he awkwardly and painfully stumbled away to lick his new wound.

A moment of peace. Another command. Another wound. He was strong, but nights of this was slowly wearing him down… How long he could keep this up?

_Snick. Snak_.

As long as he needed to.

* * *

Astrid brought Stormfly around and landed on the boat a _little_ harder than was necessary, feeling a dark satisfaction at seeing the crates of goods shudder on the deck. "Johann," she said levelly, freezing the man in his tracks with a hand to his cabin door.

"Ah, m-mistress Astrid, a p-pleasure as alw-ways," he stuttered nervously. "Would you be patient for an-nother day–"

"You're been to Berserk recently, right?" she asked sternly, cutting him off.

"…I hold no allegiance to any–"

"_Yes or no_," she growled.

"Ah… Yes…? A few days ago. Why might–"

"Did Dagur…" Her harsh words choked off as her stomach climbed into her throat.

Johann's eyes flicked between her and Stormfly, then apparently decided they weren't about to kill him and straightened his posture. "Dagur the Deranged, a fitting title," he said wryly as he stroked his beard. "Never before have I seen him quite so excited, wouldn't stop talking about a new helmet… or perhaps a hat. He couldn't seem to decide."

The weight of those words crushed her spirit. They were gone. Forever. And even worse, that lunatic would be running around wearing them as–

"Once it stopped running around the forest…? He did not deign to elaborate on that. Mad as a Nadder in a barrel, that one." He glanced at Stormfly. "Er, no offense…?"

Astrid went rigid. _They… they weren't… yet…_

A tug on the saddle had Stormfly launch herself from the boat, and they sped back to Berk. The flight was only a couple of hours, but she could almost feel every moment slipping past. Every moment was one Dagur had potentially become bored with his toys, if he hadn't already.

It felt like a week had passed when she finally crashed into Stoick's house, but he wasn't there. She spun and darted up the stairs to the hall and darted inside, finding him idly finishing off his dinner with a mug of ale in his hand.

"They're alive!" she blurted out, slamming her hands onto the table to prevent herself from crashing into it. "Or, at least one of them is, was, a few days ago, I–"

"_Calm_, lass," Stoick ordered tersely, and her mouth shut as she stood upright, but she could see the hope and impatience under his stern expression.

"I _might_ have gone ahead to meet Johann… but he's just been to Berserk, and Dagur said the Furies are just running around the forest! Until…" She just bared her teeth, not able to say it.

"That… is a tall order…" Stoick rumbled slowly.

"But we–!"

"_Calm!_" he snapped over the top of her, and her mouth clicked shut again. "You can't just fly to Berserk. Think this _through_, Astrid. I'm not saying not go," he cut off her objection with a raised hand before she could make it, "but can your dragons fly there and back without rest? Can you find them? Can you extract them safely? You aren't going _anywhere_ until I see a plan. And you aren't planning _anything_ until you've calmed down." He took a long breath. "I can tell you from experience, that doesn't work."

"_How can I _possibly_ be calm right now!?_" she shouted. Dagur wouldn't just be letting the Furies run wild, he'd be constantly hunting and chasing them, _torturing_ them, and the only thing she could focus on was how _frightened_ Hiccup had been with Dagur standing over him.

"Then I'm sorry for this," he said sadly before his fist slammed into her gut.

Her feet left the ground and her breath left her with a _whoof_. He'd definitely pulled his punch, but this was from a man known for killing dragons with his _bare hands_. She felt as if Gobber's anvil had been dropped on her.

"You alright there, lass…?" he asked quietly.

"…Yeah," she wheezed from the floor. She actually did feel a bit calmer now, in a half-unconscious sort of way.

"Good," he rumbled, then his giant hand appeared in front of her to help her to her feet. "Now go get the others. And let me know if you need calming again."

* * *

Pinching his chin, Dagur mentally mapped the path they had followed. From the lake back to the village, where it had wandered up and down the treeline, then right down the main path and almost into the village itself. Along the outermost buildings, apparently stopping at several places ideal for observing from, before heading back into the trees and to the lake, from where it had run away when he'd first tracked it there.

But what was it _doing?_ This was a wild change in behaviour from the hunting and hiding it had done until now.

Dagur scowled at the dogs. They were effective tracking tools, but would be a weakness in a real hunt. A grown Night Fury would simply… "_Kaboom!_" he exclaimed aloud, startling the hounds, and laughed. He had been quite lucky that neither had been injured so far, the beast may be small but its claws at least were sharp; he had the gashes to prove it.

He now knew how to trap a Night Fury, had ideas on luring them, knew their habits, and could recognise their tracks and signs of habitation. Now he just needed to know how to fight them, but this little lizard could not give him that experience. Even if he let it grow up on the island, it wouldn't be a real fighter that had grown up in the wild with other dragons.

He thought he'd learned everything he could from it, but now it had gone and done something unexpected and new! Grinning widely, he bit his lip in anticipation. For his hat, or for a new challenge, he wasn't sure yet.

After all, "It's not _every_ day you can hunt a Night Fury!"

* * *

Alvin watched his dragon shuffle across the stone to reach its dinner. It was a determined reptile, he had to give it that.

This had only been a backup plan, but that was before the heads of two of his plants on Berserk had been left adrift on a small raft to be picked up by his network of Outcasts. Now there was a good chance he really _did_ need to break it. The old prophecy only mentioned one, but even if it did require its cooperation he wasn't about to go putting all his faith in fairy tales. Prophecy or no, a Night Fury at his beck and call would put him at the top of the Archipelago.

_Tch_, but manipulation was so much simpler when love was involved; particularly familial love. That was why he'd sent Heather, after all. He just hoped that berserk fool hadn't killed his prize yet.

_Snick. Snak. Snick. Snak. Snick. Snak._

The quiet sound drifted up from the ring, unnoticeable if not for its constant repetition in the evening silence. Alvin leaned in to look, but the dragon was just laying there, staring at the wall and not moving at all. "What're you up to…" he murmured. It turned to look at him, but the sound did not cease.

He gave it a suspicious glare before striding away. They would need to be even more wary of shed teeth – it wasn't as if they could check by prying its mouth open – and of course he was wearing his bracers under his sleeves.

* * *

It had taken a surprisingly long time to put together. Half a day collecting the rocks, half the rest of the day digging up a bank by the lake, then utterly failing to make any progress. Dreamer managed better the second day – even despite being chased off by Dagur, though he wasn't caught – and managed to set the rocks into the damp soil so that he had a makeshift kiln built into the bank, about big enough for him to curl up in. It would be terribly inefficient, leaking heat between the stones, and the stones themselves might explode if it got too hot for too long, but it should do the job.

To hide his project he'd selected a location amidst low, limp-hanging reeds where it was difficult to see much from a distance or from behind. Things got tricky from there. He couldn't lead the dogs, and therefore Dagur, back to it, so he could only access it from the water. It made the whole process a lot slower. However, after thinking on it for a while he decided it was actually safer to just walk away instead of going back out through the lake. They'd pick up the trail and follow it away, rather than picking up the small pocket of scent and investigating. More than a few times and Dagur might get suspicious, but he should be done before that became a problem.

It then took a frustratingly long time to retrieve enough wood as well. He was limited by what he could bite through, but managed a nice balance of twigs for kindling and thicker branches that should produce suitable coals. These of course all had to be carried through the water; he couldn't risk carrying them above the surface and someone seeing where he was taking them.

Maybe he should have done the wood first, to give it more time to dry. Everything was more obvious after it was done.

Dropping the long branch he'd been carrying, he peeked from the reeds to scan the lake. It was strange to _want_ Dagur to catch him, but it was getting to about that point and showing the bindings were undamaged might buy Dreamer a little more time. He thought while he settled himself on the damp ground to crunch the branch into more manageable pieces, weakening it with his teeth and then twisting his neck to snap it off against the ground.

With all his wood in suitable pieces and set up to dry as best he could manage, he shook the splinters out of his mouth, took a quick dip back in the lake, and casually wandered out to the forest in the evening light. Dinner, sleep, then a day of rest. The wood should be dry by then – there was no scent of rain on the wind – and his tail would be free. _Tomorrow night_…

He purred, the rumbling in his throat unfamiliar but very pleasant, then set about finding one of the many rabbit trails. He had become quite adept at picking out the slightest smell of disturbed earth now, and he was hyper aware of every sound for fifty body-lengths. Really, if not for those accursed dogs he'd have been gone… weeks ago? How long had he even been here?

His teeth slid from his gums as he crossed a fresh trail, hunger putting his thoughts back on track and feeding fire into his limbs. It had been a while since he'd had a decent hunt, and his lithe body almost hummed in anticipation.

Spotting the rabbit, he lunged straight for it and thrilled in the short chase through the trees. Too short, but then his stomach was aching too much to be disappointed. The second rabbit proved something more of a challenge at least.

Satisfied, he cleaned his claws, face, and then began a general groom. The numerous pale marks marring his hide made him wince, thin lines all over and dozens of pale dots peppering his neck and shoulders. Many of both were still raw and painful. It was difficult to decide which was worse, the dreadful poison that corrupted his thoughts, or the despicable dogs that… he'd rather not think about.

_Soon_.

The night passed uneventfully, though he slept restlessly. He didn't have much to do the next day and just moseyed through the forest for most of it, paddling through the lake a few times to check on the wood and finding it suitably dry by noon; thankfully the early autumn sun still had some bite to it, at least this far from the Meridian of Misery.

Dagur tried his hand at hunting without his dogs, and he'd actually managed to get within thirty feet before Dreamer noticed him. That had been a scare, followed by a tense chase, but while Dagur could endure a long hunt through the day he could not keep up at top speed. And without the dogs, Dreamer could mask most of his tracks and leave him behind. He spent the evening napping lightly in a tree to build his strength back up.

He was woken by the sounds of dogs sniffing through the forest, not far away. _Oh no_… He squeezed his eyes shut. If he stayed here he'd be shot by an arrow, which always knocked him unconscious for most of a day and then disrupted his thoughts for a time after that. With everything set up, he didn't want to lose that time.

The alternative…

If he thought about it, he'd never do it. He slashed the branch he lay on in frustration, then let himself drop and swooped to the ground. He just knew he was going to regret this.

Wait… Dagur was trying not to rely on the dogs. Which made sense, they'd be no threat to a larger Nightstriker and only useful for tracking. If he played this right and let _Dagur_ catch him… Maybe that would work.

The footsteps were close now. Close enough. He took a long breath, steeling himself for what was to come, then ran at a tangent to the sounds making as much noise as he could.

The pursuit immediately picked up and barking rang through the trees, it was just a matter of who would appear first…

His chest tightened at seeing the dogs appear from behind a wiry thicket – but then Dagur sped past them, and he breathed a sigh of relief. _This is the weirdest situation_… He deliberately ran a few notches from his top speed, watching the Berserker close in from the corner of his eye.

This was working out perfectly. Dagur would grab him, maybe knock the wind out of him again, but he'd avoided both the arrows and the–

Dagur drew his axe.

A sharp intake of breath caught in Dreamer's throat, and he dug his claws in to abruptly change direction. Dagur seemed to expect it and immediately angled after him, even gaining a bit of ground by cutting the corner.

Dreamer found a new top speed, frantically slamming his paws against the ground and using the weight of his wings and tail to more efficiently steer through the trees. _Think think think!_ Dagur had probably decided on a lethal hunt over an execution. _Deprive him of that_.

A glance back had him running even harder. Right on his tail, Dagur was in a full-on Berserker trance, confirming his lethal intent, and showed no signs of tiring or slowing. _THINK!_ His thoughts were difficult to grasp with all his energy directed into his body, and he had to focus on plotting an efficient course through the trees.

It was soon evident, however, that there really was only one solution. Funny, how being caught by the dogs almost sounded appealing now, but they were behind Dagur and Dreamer couldn't maintain this pace for much longer. There was still one trick he hadn't shown yet.

He held his right wing out and let his tail drift off to the right, at the same time he picked some firm ground in front of a tree and planted his paws firmly for a sharp left turn. At the speed they were going, probably none other than Dagur would have the reflexes to react in the short time that was given, but he didn't have time to check. He snapped his right wing back to him, threw out his left wing, and _heaved_ his tail across, shunting his body to the other side of his paws to launch himself to the right instead. He then planted his paws on the tree and pushed off that for a sharper turn.

The pace behind him became disrupted with a grunt of surprise, and the next breath of air Dreamer blasted from his lungs might have counted as a sigh of relief.

And then, as planned, the dogs crashed into his side, grabbed him by the neck as he skidded to a stop, and thrashed violently. His insides convulsed, and he distantly tasted bile dripping from his mouth, but he was _alive_.

His head swam as he was dragged across the ground, a pleasant sensation on his scales. _Everything_ – except maybe the teeth in his neck – was a pleasant sensation right now, given that a moment ago he'd been claw-lengths from feeling nothing at all. Had he really been ready to give up a few days ago? Death terrified him now.

The dragging ceased, and he opened an eye to see Dagur sitting cross-legged nearby and breathing heavily through his bared teeth. His expression was equal parts rage and admiration. Dreamer couldn't help but give him a small and weak smile. _You will never catch me_.

The axe swung around to point at him, a claw-length from his nose, and he eyed the tip warily. The words Dagur forced through his teeth were completely unintelligible, but the message was clear; _next time, I will kill you_.

* * *

Clenching his teeth, Dagur eyed the girl presented to him. _This_ was why he'd been pulled away from his Night Fury!? He was still coming down from the trance, and even _his_ control had its limits. "…Wait, I know you, you were with that guy who took my other Night Fury! And you think _you're_ a Berserker? That's a good one!" He growled and spun his axe, but kept it in his hands. She was his only lead to his other Night Fury. Maybe this wasn't a complete waste of time.

"No I _don't_ think I'm your sister, actually, I have no idea what game these two are playing!" She scowled at the two outcasts who were holding her at the edge of the old boat, though they paid her no attention other than to point knives at her vitals.

"Test her how you want, she is," one of them said. "A hunned gold pieces and she's yours."

Now that he really looked at her… she almost could be his long-lost sister. She'd been so young when she disappeared with her mother though, and there were a lot of people in the Archipelago and beyond, finding a look-alike wouldn't be impossible. Then again, the price was practically pocket change. "A hundred gold is kind of _light_ for a blood ransom," he responded flatly.

The outcast shrugged, his open mouth showing off his pointy teeth. They were _really cool_, tempting to do himself actually, but it had become a sort of Outcast signature. Pity. Maybe he could hunt down all the Outcasts and take the trend for himself. "Don't need much gold when you steal most stuff you need. And you're less likely to chase us down and murderise us."

Dagur nodded with a thoughtful frown. "Yeah, you're probably right. You think he's right?" he asked the guard next to him, but just received a dumb look back. Dagur rolled his eyes and threw him into the harbour. "So you think you're a Berserker?" he asked the girl.

"No!" she shouted back.

"I'll ask some questions. Answer truthfully or this guy dies," he spun his axe again and held it to the throat of the other guard with him.

"…_Why_ would I care about that?"

"Ha! Correct answer." He returned his axe to his back, and the man breathed a sigh of relief. Dagur rolled his eyes again and threw him into the harbour with his buddy. "Question two, what does your father look like?"

"I don't know! I never knew him…"

"Question three, what does your _mother_ look like?"

"Brown eyes, blonde hair… Kind of… round face…"

"And her name's Berghild?"

"No, it's Eidis."

He narrowed his eyes at the girl. "It's your lucky day Outcasts, I don't have time for this. Pay them and–…" His guards weren't with him. _Tch_, sloppy. He spotted one climbing out of the water. "Pay them and put her in my guest room! Make sure she stays there!" he shouted, and the man thumped his chest and jogged off, leaving a wet trail. "We'll talk later," he promised her, and strode back to the leatherworkers to check on his Night Fury.

* * *

Astrid paced the longboat as it casually cut through the waves, willing herself to patience. _Just another test_, she forced herself to think. Stoick had reminded her a Chief needed to remain calm in the most stressful and dire of circumstances, and this was certainly the best experience she was ever going to get at that. If she could stay calm here, she could face Ragnarok with a smile.

She only had to remember what they were all risking to temper the more reckless thoughts. Stay at a distance, no engaging, be smart. Spitelout, who was accompanying them, also kept a careful eye on her in particular. Well, she was _done_ with letting people down.

The boat was a little cramped to carry all the dragons, so they flew in shifts. It worked well because they could scout quite far from the air and ensure they sailed around any poor weather. Naturally it would be far quicker to just fly, but Stoick's concerns were justified, the dragons wouldn't be able to fly there and back while carrying their passengers. Or if they could, then they would not have any strength to spare.

It was, amusingly, one of the Berserker boats that had been left behind in the raid that had yet to be refitted. It didn't really camouflage them what with the dragons all over it, but they didn't intend on sailing that close to the island, it was more so if they had to ditch it then Berk would not be directly implicated. It was also available, spare, and fast; at least compared to other boats, it was excruciatingly slow compared to flying.

But, after days at sea, they were _finally_ nearing Berserk and its low mountain was taking shape in the distance. _Just hold on little guys… We're coming._ The timing was unfortunate, the sun was just setting so they'd need to wait until the next day to scout the island. At least the dragons would all be well rested. She angled the boat to a large sea stack, a little way ahead and just outside of Berserker waters. It would be safer to rest there for the night.

From the shadow of a smaller sea stack, Savage scratched his chin with an inscrutable expression as he watched the distant blot on the water with its convoy of dragons. "Get me an arrow and some parchment," he ordered the nameless Outcast accompanying him. "And get the black sails ready. We've got a backup plan…"

* * *

With a brand-new tail binding – the leatherworker had been very confused, undamaged as the old one was, but caved to Dagur's insistence – and no poison in his blood, Dreamer was released back into the forest the same evening. Just enough time to dig up a meal and rest a bit.

He needed to strike late enough in the night that the humans would be tired, and early enough to give him time to work. He should have felt tired himself, he knew he was close to exhaustion, but he was tense and anxious as he watched the sky-sparks crawl across the sky. He passed the time by leaving misleading trails near his kiln, trails that led on wild chases through the forest and eventually looped back well away from his hideout. If – when – he was tracked back to the lake it would give him more time to act, as long as he wasn't spotted carrying the torch.

_Finally_, it was time.

He prowled along the path between the fields, staying low and quiet with his ears trained on the dogs guarding the crops. He supposed he had the rabbits to blame for them - _no, stay focused_. They would probably be alerted on his escape, but he could do nothing about that. Just as long as he had enough time to hide the flame.

He approached the side of the outermost building and blended in with the shadows, peeking down the street. He'd memorised the route of this guard, but watched him again just to confirm tonight was no different… then picked his moment and skulked from the darkness.

Several torches lined the street, the one he went for wasn't far but he didn't have long to get it. Heart pounding in his chest, his body stiff with tension, he closed his teeth around the shaft – immediately discovering it was _metal_. What kind of crazy village could waste metal on _torches?_ He tried to tug it from the ground, but it was stuck fast.

A surprised grunt pricked his ears, and he darted back to the shadows. _Thump-thump-thump-thump_ went his heart, surely audible even to the burly man approaching the torch. He carried no light himself, but after a moment of peering into the darkness, picked up the one Dreamer had been going for by removing the wooden head from the metal frame.

Breathing heavily, Dreamer eyed the flickering green light.

_Now or never_…

He backed into the darkness, wary of his eyes reflecting the light, and waited with his stomach in his throat and his pulse thumping in his ears. _Surely_ this man could see him, holding the coveted flame aloft like that? He was _right there_. No, the darkness was a Nightstriker's element, and he went undetected.

The Berserker shrugged and turned his back.

_I'm sorry for this,_ Dreamer thought at him, then silently loped forward and reared up to slash deep into the man's leg. He barked in surprise and pain, spinning around and swinging the torch low while he drew his sword. Dreamer only had eyes for the torch, catching it in his teeth and wrenching it away.

His elation at success was tempered by the lumps that came with it, leaking bitter blood into his mouth, but he couldn't stop to think about it. He beat the ground with his paws, digging claws into the packed dirt to speed towards the forest.

The dogs by the fields did not bark, but he could hear them running for him – they were _guards_, he realised, that caught or chased off any threats to their field, so once in the safety of the trees the pursuit thankfully tailed off.

He almost couldn't afford the time, but he dropped the torch – and fingers – to retch violently and shake his head, flinging globs of saliva over the ground. Still queasy, he bit back into the wooden handle and streaked into the forest with the precious flame rushing at his side.

Following his internal map and listening to the distant sounds of pursuit, he ran straight for his chosen entry point into the lake; close enough that he could quickly swim to the kiln, far enough to make use of his false trails. He slowed to slide into the cool water, ensuring the fire remained above the surface, then by paddling and snaking his tail – he'd become rather practised in the last few days – he managed to quickly skim across the surface without extinguishing his only hope. He also managed to climb up through the reeds without setting them all on fire, though he was sure a few must have caught.

Hurriedly, he shoved the head of the torch into the kiln and threw his wings over it, blocking the light, then listened intently. He had been so _fast_, and with the guard's injured leg there was no way…

The sounds of footsteps and hushed shouting was still muffled and very distant, and peeking above the reeds he could see nothing. Fierce relief layered into the elation and tension, a medley of adrenaline that had him buzzing.

He forced his breathing to slow, then turned his attention to the kiln. He still had a lot of work to do.

Stoking the fire was easy, letting the smaller twigs catch and then feeding in larger and larger pieces. Once he had a solid flame going he carefully extracted the thick torch and tossed it into the water – all that effort only to have it extinguish with a hiss. It felt like a waste, but the long piece of wood and oily rag were of little use now.

Once the larger pieces were burning, he took in a long breath and began blowing under the flames. Heat immediately washed over his face, the fire humming at him happily as it chewed into the wood.

Was it too soon? Well, ruining the binding was the whole point. He navigated his tail around and poked the end into the heat, a further discomfort on the fins but easily tolerable. He arranged some more lumps of wood over the top of it, keeping up the constant stream of air.

It was very bright in his little cubby of wings and dirt, but poking his head out confirmed very little light was escaping outside. Without the fire so close, he could also hear his pursuers, closer now but moving further away. One of his false trails, no doubt. He ducked back into his wings with a smirk, then blinked at the sudden and intense heat from the fire.

Gingerly, he extracted his tail and inspected the leather. Not much difference, but the stitching was in poor condition, and he managed to pick through each stitch in a matter of moments. He'd already selected his four break points and worked the wire out much more easily, though acutely aware of the time it was taking. He couldn't assume the Berserkers would just give up, most likely someone had been sent to get Dagur and his more experienced dogs. They'd find him eventually. Sooner if they happened to get downwind. Or heard the fire. _Oh man I really didn't think this through._

_It's fine, just keep going_.

The fire had died to a merry flicker and dull embers by the time the eighth short length of wire was pulled free, in a fraction of the time. He poked some more wood in and followed it with his tail again, blowing more gently to encourage the new wood to catch, then more firmly to heat it once it had.

Between the exhaustion, tension, adrenaline, and constant exhaling, he was beginning to feel very dizzy and lightheaded, but he was far too close to rest now. Hope _burned_ in his chest, a feeling he had all but forgotten. _So close!_ The wire warmed to… well, he supposed it was red, but he couldn't really see the colour other than that it was glowing. He pulled it out and tugged at the wire – still too strong to snap. It was thrust into the water with a tiny gulping sound, then he shook the water free and poked it back into the kiln.

When he tugged on the heated metal again, and his claw broke through it… he almost could have cried. But he wasn't off the ground yet, and he could still hear voices and footsteps. _Quickly!_ Half the wires needed another reheating before they snapped, and then he shredded through the heat-damaged leather with his teeth at each of the four break points, moving towards the tip of his tail. The hot air was stifling, but he didn't stop to poke his head out for a breath regardless of how tempting it was.

_One._

_Two._

_Three…_

_FOUR!_

He ripped off the _despicable_ bindings and threw them at the water, uncaring of the small splash they made, then shoved his poor tail into his mouth and silently whimpered around it. The fins felt locked in place and didn't immediately respond to his attempts to open them, so after briefly massaging it with his mouth he reluctantly released the appendage to tease them out with his claws.

It was _excruciating_, the unused muscles and tendons searing their complaints into his nerves, but very quickly that didn't matter.

_No…_

He let out a quiet whine through his open mouth, staring in horror at his tail fins. His disfigured tail fins, the bones inside them bent out of shape and preventing the membranes from spreading properly.

He was still very much stuck on Berserk.


	18. Perspicacity

Numbly, Dreamer put his tail back into his mouth and gently massaged it again. His saliva wasn't magic, it couldn't correct the bones, but he just didn't know what else to do.

_Move_.

Yes, he… he needed to move. They were looking for him, it was only a matter of time. What would they do when they caught him? Kill him for fear he would escape? Or just rebind his tail? He didn't think he could go through this again. No, he was pretty sure they would just kill him, they had reached that point already.

He reluctantly pulled his soggy tail from his mouth and flexed the fins. They were still extremely painful and stiff, but they moved. With a deep breath, he tried to visualise the various positions and their effects, letting the fins spread and angle accordingly. The membranes remained crumpled but provided a reasonable surface area; he might not be _entirely_ grounded now at least.

The fire popped in the kiln, bringing his attention back to the ground. He needed to dispose of the evidence – simply pushing dirt into it achieved that, it was now nothing more than a curiously arranged mess of dirt, rock, and charcoal.

And now he needed to _move_. Quickly poking his head up to check the coast was clear – there were now two search parties scouring the lake, but neither of them were on him yet – he crept from the reeds, took a running start…

Then, with a great flap of his wings, leapt into the sky.

His tail immediately weighed down, not quite able to catch enough air, but with adjustments to his flapping he managed to get airborne. The strain on his wings was tremendous, they weren't meant to be used at this angle, and in addition to being 'heavy' his warped fins created drag, but for a moment he just revelled in the _flight_ and _freedom_. For a precious moment, he forgot everything that had happened and that he was still trapped. For that instant, he was truly happy.

Though, only for a moment, and he bit down on the joyous roar before it could leave his throat. The longer they searched the ground, the longer he had to recover and… figure out what he was going to do next.

What he was going to do _now_ was an easy decision, he alighted on a small ledge high up Berserk's mountain and immediately collapsed. The same sheer cliffs that had prevented him from scaling it now protected him, at least for a time, and with that knowledge he was barely able to even catch his breath before his exhaustion dragged him into the first real sleep he'd had since arriving on Berserk.

* * *

Heather wandered aimlessly through the village, feeling alone with her thoughts and recent revelations.

Of _course_ she was a lost heir of the Berserkers. That was _exactly_ Alvin's style, she wasn't just some random girl he'd picked up and trained in manipulation. She was a hostage, leverage, whatever he wanted her to be, and capable enough that he could put her to work until he could use her.

Though, knowing Alvin, it was _also_ his style to trick her into _thinking_ she was Berserk's heir to somehow use it against her, jumping to conclusions would be unwise. Although… Dagur's questioning the night before had been _very_ convincing. Her story matched perfectly. _Could_ that even be fabricated?

She kept an eye on the burly guard following her and wondered where he would prevent her from going. The docks, obviously, and probably the forest. He hadn't really been bothered by anywhere she went in the village.

Her home town was a traditional peaceful settlement, preferring to earn a living rather than pillage and steal it like the barbaric Vikings. The wealthier inhabitants owned the poorer ones, but nobody could afford to just kick back and relax all day. Berk abhorred slavery, offended by the notion, and even the general concept of ownership was much looser than she was used to. Everyone simply took what they needed, but only what they needed.

Berserk was the complete other end of the spectrum, heavily relying on slavery for its day to day running. The Berserkers themselves were easy to pick out by their scars and enormous builds, but very few of them seemed to be doing anything productive. The smithy, tannery, fishing boats, mead hall, every building she came across was staffed by thin people dressed in rags. Only the blacksmith really looked healthy, but lacked the thick arms and torso expected of his trade.

The Berserkers were also easy to pick out because they were all in a hurry. Once she'd finished a circuit of the village she hung out in the mead hall to gather intel, inviting her guard over and rambling some nonsense about preferring the atmosphere and letting him grab a drink. He just grunted at her and obliged, thoughtfully sliding her a tankard of water.

_"Is that her?" "Shh don't even look." "Imposter." "Mad as he is."_

It seemed news of her arrival had spread, and though they spoke of her it told her more of Dagur. Seemed he didn't rule with an iron fist, but just his name was enough to set people straight. From what she'd seen of him she could believe that, she should take care to avoid him as much as possible.

The conversations – all of them – gradually moved to another topic, which seemed to be that of the Night Fury that had apparently been missing since last night. Piecing together fragments from here and there, she worked out Dagur had taken her advice and bound its tail, probably in the same overengineered bindings he'd bound it with back on Berk, and after weeks of constantly hunting it down it had magicked away the binding and disappeared.

But rather than disappointed, everyone was tensely excited. They all thought they would be the one to capture it and claim the glory, though Dagur apparently reserved the honour of killing it.

So it lived, but not for long and only if it didn't escape sooner. _Tch_, Alvin had really outdone himself with _this_ mission. She could attempt to best hundreds of seasoned dragon hunters in hunting it down herself, or intercept it while it was guarded by the most vicious warriors in the Archipelago; assuming it didn't just fly away never to be seen again. What exactly did he want her to do here? Maybe if she'd been a few days earlier…

Dejectedly, she shuffled out of the hall and dragged her feet back to her accommodation; Dagur's abode, a slightly larger but otherwise nondistinctive house near the centre of the village. The door wasn't locked, and she let herself in to return to her room and shut the door behind her. The guard slumped into a chair outside, by the sound of it. With any luck he'd be asleep before long.

Years of practise allowed her to get rest when she could, and after preparing a lamp she dozed through the evening. Dagur didn't return, but the sound of parchment tapping against the floor roused her. That was a relief, at least that meant there was a plan. She quickly lit the lamp, retrieved the message from under the narrow window, and squinted at Savage's nigh-illegible scratching.

…

Well, this was within the realm of possibility at least… but not by much.

* * *

A firm gust of wind, smelling cleanly of the sea and clear skies, roused Dreamer by buffeting his wing against his side. He blinked himself awake in the early evening light – he'd slept through half the night and most of the following day. It felt as if a weight had been removed from his back.

And one had, in a way. He swung his tail around and flexed the fins, no longer as sore but feeling weak and tender; understandable, given the circumstances, they hadn't moved in… weeks, he guessed. He inspected them with a clearer and calmer head as the grogginess lifted from his mind.

The five thin 'fingers' in the fins were kinked where the bindings had clamped over them, only slight bends but that added up with how many there were. Would they correct themselves in time? Doubtful… He had some ideas for an apparatus to guide the bones back into shape, but he'd need Gobber to make it and could therefore only escape with what he had.

The idea crossed his mind to fly out to sea and drown himself where Dagur couldn't reach him, but he grounded the thought. He now wanted to live, to fly with his friend, grow up and breathe fire… A whimsical part of him wanted to experience love, but he could never have what he'd dreamed of with Astrid. The obvious connotation of his new body didn't sit right with him either.

He batted himself on the head a few times, _dreaming again_, and brought his attention back to the present. Whatever he was going to do, he'd need strength, and that required food; a whole day had passed since he'd last eaten.

With a stretch, he got to his paws and approached the edge – then scrambled back and flattened himself to the ground. There were Berserkers _everywhere_, and many of them had dogs. It was unlikely they'd seen him this far away, but he was beginning to lose track of the range of human senses, and his dark scales would be very visible even in this low light.

_Rabbit might be off the table…_ He approached the edge again, just far enough to see the sea and the Berserker ships stationed evenly across it. Not that he knew what he was expecting to do out there. He _might_ be able to fish, as long as some came near the surface, but needed somewhere to climb out in case he couldn't launch straight from the water with his damaged tail.

_Grrr_, so close but so far from leaving this accursed island. Taking a deep breath, he tried to put his mind to work… but could think of no solution. He needed more information, and could do little more than wait for the sky-fire to burn out.

When the sky-sparks began to twinkle between the scattered clouds, he rolled and flexed his tail fins one last time as he tentatively approached the edge. The island was no longer swarming, but he could see a few still combing the area around the lake. With any luck he'd be able to duck into the forest, catch a rabbit or three and fly back up before anyone caught up with him.

Though, he would need to be careful of arrows and bolas. They would have trouble seeing him, but he himself had managed a lucky shot on a Night Fury in the dark, travelling full speed at that. Best to be cautious, scout things out first and keep moving.

He spread his wings, revelling in having even a little of his flight restored, and jumped into the air. It took him a few moments to get his rhythm going, he couldn't just soar like he wanted and he needed to flap his wings a little further back than he was used to, but he managed to fumble his way through it. How did Nightmares and Nadders fly without tail fins? It was so unfair.

Having been restricted to the ground for so long, he should assume his endurance in the air had suffered, which when combined with that he was very hungry and needing to flap constantly… he needed to make this brief. But neither could he afford to rush.

One quick lap. He looped around the island, over the forest, and angled his ears out to pick up sounds below him. The distant growls and rustling might have been his imagination… but he didn't think so.

About three-quarters of the way around he noticed runners passing to and from a table that had been set up near the treeline by the lake, manned by a few Berserkers. Two of them could have been Dagur, the darkness and distance were less hindrance to his incredible eyes but he still had his limits. Regardless, they had a centralised command post. _Aaaand I've just gone and alerted every dog on the island that I'm in the air. Great_.

The smartest thing to do in that case was to wait out their alertness. Probably land in an open area where he could see nearby threats, and sneak into the forest from the ground.

Something caught his eye as he began labouring his way back up the mountain, strange shapes against the jagged vertical rock. He drifted a little closer – then banked sharply away with his stomach in his throat. _Hammocks_. A _lot_ of them, all pinned to the mountainside. He had to admit, it was the first place he'd look for a dragon too.

He didn't know how long it would take them to clear it, but he knew they were familiar with it. The Hooligans waited for the dragons to come to them, but the Berserkers sought them out and needed to be adept climbers, so used it as practise.

He growled quietly to himself, this was all too much for him to process. What was he supposed to _do?_ He laboured his way a safe distance above the hammocks and dropped onto a smooth little ledge. The first task was to get something to eat, which he'd try later in the night. The second was to find a way off this island…

* * *

With the Berserker longboat anchored, the six Hooligans and their dragons had rested on a tall sea stack with a wide, flat top. Mostly flat, it was sloped a little steeper than was comfortable, but the dragons didn't seem overly bothered and provided good support.

Astrid blinked herself awake just before dawn and stretched, rousing Stormfly next to her. "Hey girl," she cooed. "Ready to find some Night Furies?" Today would just be scouting, if they were going to do anything it would likely be at night.

"Have a nice sleep-in, lassie? Lay awake missin' yer pillow?" Spitelout crowed from the back of his dragon.

Actually, Stormfly had been _very_ comfortable to sleep against, but she wasn't going to admit that. "Nah, these rocks are just right. Thinking of taking some home, best sleep I've had in weeks." She joked back, but flatly. Anxiety and fear over what she might find was creeping into her gut and she couldn't put any feeling into the usual banter.

Spitelout seemed to pick up on it, and gave her a slow nod. "Best we focus today. Oy! Boyo!"

"Nooo Dad, it's too early," Snotlout groaned.

"Kingstail?" Spitelout prompted with a sigh, and his dragon plodded down the slope to snort in Snotlout's face. Astrid hid a grin at his scream. "Ah actually meant ter step on 'im, but ah guess that works too," he mumbled. "We're goin' scouting, boyo. You need to hold down things here and watch fer anyone gettin' too curious. We'll be back later ter plan."

"What? No, I'm coming with you," Snotlout insisted, searching for his helmet.

"On a big obvious dragon yeh can't control. 'Caus _tha's_ a good idea. Ah mean it, _stay here_."

"Don't worry," Fishlegs mumbled sleepily, "we'll keep him out of trouble."

Wondering what sort of chaos they would be returning to, Astrid finished her stretching and climbed into the saddle, then they were climbing into the air towards Berserk.

"Think we'll find them?" Astrid called over the wind when they levelled out, just trying to start conversation.

He shrugged. "Tha's the point of scoutin'. We won't know wha' we'll find until we get there. No sense thinkin' either way 'till you know."

"Yeah, well it's hard not to think about."

"Aye, which is why you should nae really be here." Astrid snapped upright to glare at him. "You 'eard me. Yer too close to this, not thinkin' right. Frankly, ah think this is a waste o' time altogether, bu' Chief's orders an' all."

"You seriously don't care Dagur's torturing a pair of innocent dragons over there?" she asked incredulously.

"Like we did any better with dragon training," he countered.

"That _doesn't_ make it right! We didn't know. _He_ doesn't care. It's different. Besides, they're… our friends."

"Ah wonder about tha'. They won' be trained, an' they won' take a rider. Wha's keeping them here? Betcha they'll be flyin' off afore they're full grown."

There was more on that he wasn't telling her, and she scoured her training for any sort of clue. The most simple and obvious connection… Plus a touch of concern… "You're worried Stoick is too attached to them."

His eyebrow went up as he looked at her. "Yer a smart lass, tha'll net you in trouble one day if yer no careful. Bu' ah won' speak ill of me Chief." He stared forwards for a little while before quietly adding "Even if ah _do_ think he needs ta let go of 'is dead son."

She let the conversation die there. It had been risky for him to say that, and showed he had a measure of trust in her. He complimented Stoick well, and she wondered about who her own Marshal would be. Probably Snotlout, he was the one training for it and had shown once or twice that he _could_ be serious when he needed to be… but _ugh_, he really needed to grow up first.

This was all a _long_ way off, she was getting ahead of herself thinking about it now. She focused on the task at hand, calculating arrow range from the top of the mountain and drawing herself barriers to avoid. As long as they remained down there and she up here, they couldn't touch her.

The town they flew over was a bustling port of activity. "Is this normal?" she asked Spitelout, having never been to Berserk herself.

He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Ah dunno, i's hard ter say. Never seen it from up 'ere before, an' no' since Dagur became Chief."

"Okay… so how about _that?_" She pointed at the middle of the island, and its little gazebo near the lake with a steady stream of Berserkers toing and froing.

"No' so much," Spitelout agreed. "Ah'd say they're mountin' a full-scale hunt. Prolly fuh yer beasties, there's nothin' else in those trees." No axe had been spared in this hunt, they were even climbing the mountain with such inhuman speed it might as well have been level ground.

If they were hunting like this, then the Furies lived… but how in Thor's name were they supposed to intervene? "Ideas…?" she called out to Spitelout.

"No way we can get low enough durin' the day. Weh'll scout a while longer, thar's more ter see yet, an' if nothin' better comes up we'll come back at night an' hope yer beasties can find each other. Where's it likely ter be?"

"If… if they could fly they would have just flown back to Berk, they could make the trip, so they won't be on the mountain. Can a dog track a dragon?"

"Ah'd say so, but I don' know fer sure."

"Maybe they're in a sea cave then…"

Kingstail drifted a little closer. "Don' get yer hopes up lassie, tha's a _lot_ of hunters down there. An' don' do anything stupid either. Ah _will_ grab you off yer dragon if ah think yeh need it."

She spared him a curt nod, keeping her attention on everything going on below.

* * *

"Reporting. Dog picked up a new trail, definite start and end." The voice was proceeded by someone striding up to the command area to stand respectfully, a hound obediently following at his side.

"Show me," Dagur commanded, burying his knife in the corner of the map of Berserk to hold it still. The man walked forward, picked up a charcoal pencil, and roughly scratched a few lines before stepping back and being forgotten. The marks started near the lake, then entered the forest for a distance where they stopped.

This was proof it could fly. It had probably eaten now as well, but it hadn't approached the lake. It might own the night, but a tight patrol of archers and torches had kept it from the water. Every time he'd caught it the first thing it'd done was get a drink, so if he kept it from the water he would keep it weak and unable to leave. It had also been showing less and less stamina over the weeks, so this should leave it crippled. It was only a matter of time.

As long as it didn't harbour any other mysterious tricks. Magic had to be involved here, it was the only thing that made sense. Though he had little doubt the Night Fury had stolen the torch, he couldn't work out what it could possibly have used it for. The beast had _clearly_ been planning something, he'd known that when it had grinned at him; he should have just killed it then. What a worthy opponent it was! Very deserving of an honourable death, and the next time he saw it his axe was cleaving through its neck to show his respect for it.

"Chief!" someone called, out of breath. This was going to be either very good or very bad. "The girl… she… uh…"

"Well, spit it out, is she gone or what?" Dagur groaned at him.

"Er… Yeah."

What was going on here? He must be cursed or something, first he couldn't keep a dragon locked up, and now he couldn't even hold some girl. "Well, it _is_ a Night Fury. Should have seen this coming, really." And if he'd underestimated the _dragon_, could he have underestimated the _girl?_ Which would mean… "Hey, she really _is_ my sister! That's great news!"

"You're… not mad?" the man asked.

"Oh I'm furious, but I'm not going to gut myself now am I?" He laughed good-naturedly. Nobody laughed with him. _Rude_. You should always laugh when someone jokes about gutting themselves. "Where is she?"

He shook his head. "She's just gone, and you've got all the dogs. If you give me one I could–"

"No, ignore her for now. Either she's still here or she's back with those Outcasts, she'll stay that way whether we look or not. Go climb the mountain." It had to be there, they'd already looked everywhere else, they just had to chase it off and be ready for when it came down.

Scratching his chin, Dagur wondered how many Berserkers it would take to kill an adult Night Fury. They didn't look _nearly_ as dangerous as a Monstrous Nightmare or Deadly Nadder, now that he'd got a good look at one. Maybe they were specialised for flying and striking targets at range, and were useless in close quarters. That just meant getting close and preventing it from escaping. They also seemed to be even more susceptible to dragonroot than other dragons, though perhaps it was less effective on an adult. He wouldn't know any of this until he tracked down another one.

First, he needed to track down this one.

* * *

About halfway of the way up the mountain of Berserk, the winds blasted in every direction in eddies and currents. This was the limit of how high Dreamer could fly, the low crevice he had wedged himself into was sheltered but he could hear the air lashing at the rock as he roused to the sight of the sky-fire smouldering on the horizon.

He crawled out and stretched, then raised his head a little to peer down and observe the island; he was _way_ too high up for his little black form to be visible to humans. They were barely visible to him down below, and he knew his eyes had several times the range.

But he was at an impasse. He couldn't hunt during the day, and ships were unlikely to sail by at night. That might not have been such a huge problem if he wasn't so _exhausted_; he felt like he needed to sleep for a month.

He sat back on his haunches and swung his tail around in front of him, again marvelling at the fins as he flexed them. Still warped, of course, but _free_. He licked the membranes and _purred_ at the sensation, so sensitive after–

_Crack_

With a shriek, he scrabbled backwards and tripped over his tail, landing on his back. He instantly scrambled to his paws, but not fast enough, and a wild storm of emotions whirled within him as something closed around his tail.

"I's eer! Aa go' i'!"

The man's face, now poking up over the ledge, quickly change from elation to regret as he saw the dragon snarling at it; one hand holding said dragon's tail, the other gripping the pick hooked onto the ledge and preventing a fatal fall. A younger Dreamer might have given him a chance to realise and correct his error, but with everything he had been through he felt he could not afford it.

His claws buried into the back of the hand on his tail and quickly ripped through it, shredding the muscles and allowing him to pull free. The man let out a sharp groan through his teeth, but clearly still intended to climb up. Dreamer disabused him of that notion by slashing at his face and forcing him to duck down.

_There are more of them_, the Berserker had been talking to someone. Whether one or a hundred, it didn't matter, fighting one off would be difficult enough, two impossible. He leaped to the side of the ledge and pushed off it, throwing himself out into open air and snapping his wings out–

Then shrieked _agony_ and _despair_ as a sickeningly familiar weight buried into the scales just below his ribs, and his senses were torn asunder.

* * *

Hornets buzzed in Astrid's gut as she watched the sun sink towards the horizon from their sea stack. This waiting was the hardest part of the whole trip, and the moments crawled past in her adrenaline-fueled state. "How do you deal with this part?" she asked Spitelout, as much for the answer as to distract herself.

He shrugged. "Yeh jus' get better a' not showin' it. The wors' thing yeh can do is relax, tha's when they'll hi' ya."

This was torture, she _had_ to do something. "Well I think it's close enough now. Some last-minute scouting would be good."

Snotlout snorted. "Uh, yeah, if you want them to be wary of the dragons circling overhead. They might catch on, better we approach at dark."

"Yeh both have a point," Spitelout said almost absently, "bu' the second ter wors' thing yeh can do is jump in early 'caus ya ain't thinkin'. Ah yeh makin' this decision on a clear head, lassie?"

She took a long breath to steady her thoughts. "We might have already made them wary, we were in the air a while today. If we approach high they might not notice us anyway, we won't be able to see much but we'll notice anything different from earlier. Unlikely they'll set up a brazier or catapult, but…"

"Which they won't be able to use if they don't know we're there," Snotlout countered.

"Aye, 'tis a fine excuse," Spitelout said with a nod, "but if yeh can think of tha' yeh can can think the decision through. You're the dragon expert, an' this is _your_ mission, so do yeh want intel or stealth?"

She nearly answered immediately, but made a show of hesitating to think and silently thanked Stoick and his tutelage. Just one of the things that had made Hiccup so infuriating as a kid, she realised, and now she was doing it as well. "What I said stands. We move." It was difficult to contain her haste in climbing into the saddle.

A grumble from Snotlout was cut off by his dad knocking him on the helmet. "Suck it up boyo, ya want the decision, ya get the responsibility."

"Now remember," Astrid called out, staring pointedly at the twins, "stay well out of range until night falls. We'll then split up around the island, and Stormfly will call out for them. If they call back, everyone head towards them, or the nearest one if they're separated, but _don't_ engage. Wait for everyone to assemble and plan if you can't safely extract. Got it?"

"Why does she always look at us when she says this stuff?" Tuffnut mused to his sister.

"Yeah! Snotlout derails at _least_ as many plans as we do," she grumbled back.

Rolling her eyes, Astrid turned to Fishlegs. "I know I don't need to repeat myself to _you_, are you sure you're okay with this?"

"Yeah, don't worry," he reassured her. "We'd only slow you down if you need to leave in a hurry, and I can watch things here. Save us from getting ambushed if they discover the boat."

"Thanks. We'll be counting on you if they have any injuries."

"Sure thing."

"Alright guys, move out!" she called to everyone else, and they all took to the sky.

The flight to Berserk was quiet and tense, and Astrid did have to give credit to Snotlout and the twins for actually looking serious about this. Having such a strong goal was part of it, and for better or for worse this would almost certainly be a maturing event for them. A desperate rescue mission in extremely hostile territory. Incredible they'd been allowed to go at all really, though they _were_ by far the most practised with dragon riding.

She almost had to agree with Spitelout, that Stoick was too attached to the Furies, but that would imply they shouldn't be here.

The island of Berserk loomed ahead, even as far below as it was. "Alright everyone, do a quick lap and meet back in the middle!" she called out, and the others banked away. She scanned the ground for any changes, but there was nothing different to earlier. It was a relief to see the command tent still set up, and while activity had slowed it had most certainly not stopped. There were a few more net launchers, but all were still focused around the lake. She considered starting a fire in the forest as a distraction, Hookfang would be best suited for that. Just an option at this point.

There were Berserkers still climbing the mountain too, though it seemed they were leaving men on the ledges. If the Furies _were_ up there, they were aiming to chase them down and not give them anywhere to hide. She grit her teeth, when she got her hands on Dagur…

Hookfang's wingbeats announced the arrival of Snotlout. "They've got an army of archers, and they're _everywhere_. Whatever we do, we can't stick around."

Astrid nodded tersely at him. _Duh_. Barf and Belch were next, with Spitelout right behind them. She hoped they hadn't already disobeyed her, but Spitelout didn't look any angrier than usual so probably not.

"There's like, a dozen places we could cause some _serious_ mayhem," Ruffnut crowed.

"Safely, I'll add, as you're all about that," Tuffnut piped in. She wondered what his definition of 'safe' was. Well, more arrows in the quiver, as Stoick might say.

Spitelout didn't offer anything, so she did a last scan of the island and pulled closer to address everyone. "Alright then, everybody get–"

That was as far as she got before every dragon's head suddenly snapped towards the mountain, sending a shiver down her spine. "_Hold on!_" she yelled, right before Stormfly _heaved_ her wings against the air. It wasn't the ridiculous top speed so she was able to squint through the wind, but there wasn't much to see other than Stormfly's head twitching subtly as she looked for something. _Please please PLEASE be okay…_

They pulled into a hover a little way from the mountain, and Stormfly crowed uncertainly. "Shh, it's okay girl, they're here somewhere."

"Wha' was _tha'_ abou'?" Spitelout called over as he pulled up beside her, Kingstail similarly letting out low clucks and chatters. More wingbeats behind her signalled Snotlout and the twins behind them.

"They reacted like this last time when–"

_Everyone_ heard it, a stricken cry from below that stabbed at Astrid's heart, and then they were diving. Spitelout was shouting something, but it was lost over the wind, and she urged Stormfly for a little more speed to pull ahead of him. He was _not_ pulling her out of this, not now she could see the black shape tumbling through the air. _I can make it!_

She angled Stormfly, who had been aiming to pick him up in her claws or maybe her mouth, so that she could catch the Fury herself. The ground was getting uncomfortably close, but he was _right there!_ She almost had him!

With his wings limp and creating drag, they quickly caught up and Astrid snatched for him, her grip sliding off – but then she latched onto his tail and pulled him onto her legs, below her spiky skirt, and Stormfly immediately pulled out of the dive. Both rider and Fury were flattened to her back as the wind rushed past them, and something sharp dug into her leg, but then they were soaring back into the air! She'd done it!

Her elation was cut short by the limp form in her lap, and worry clawed at her as she held a hand to his side, then a flood of relief as she felt him breathe. Tears stung her eyes to be whipped away by the wind, and she hunched over the black dragon. "I gotcha," she whispered.

But why was he so limp? She shifted him to get his claw out of her leg, then quickly realised that wasn't his claw and awkwardly rolled him over. An arrow fell out of his chest, though only half of the head had penetrated. She needed to get him back to Fishlegs.

Her eyes lifted from the dragon to find the others… then widened. "Oh…"

* * *

Spitelout saw Astrid dive after the sound, and shot after her with a particularly blasphemous curse involving Odin's mother, an ugly dwarf, and a large yak. "Look where you're _going_ girl!" he shouted, but either the wind was too strong or she was ignoring her. "Odin's breeches," he swore again, and glanced at the others, all following with faces set in determination. For better or worse, they were committed.

The Zippleback and Nightmare began bathing the side of the mountain in fire, a constant stream from both dragons, and screams sounded behind them to be quickly lost to the distance. The smokescreen was helpful, but naturally those posted on the lower ledges would be looking up at the progress of the higher ones, so arrows were already flying up to meet them. Astrid wasn't even _trying_ to dodge, way too focused on her task.

Too risky to take her out of it at this speed, he urged Kingstail on, putting himself between the mountain and the Chief's successor. Hopefully his dragon wouldn't mind protecting another, he wasn't as closely tied to the village as the teens' dragons yet, though he offered no complaint.

They weaved through the arrows they were flying into, Kingstail using his horn to swat away a few flying at Stormfly. Spitelout had to assume they were poisoned, one had likely hit the Fury to take it down the way it did… he couldn't let one hit either dragon. Thankfully they were difficult targets at this speed.

One arrow caught his attention, strangely more in focus than everything else. He knew that one would be it, the one to down Kingstail, it was coming in at the wrong angle for him to knock away and they didn't have anywhere to move away from it without endangering Stormfly. He grit his teeth, and leaned down Kingstail's side to take the arrow in his own shoulder, groaning as it dug deep.

He spared a glance back above them, finding a large smokescreen obscuring much of the mountain and a rain of rubble following them down. A suitable disengagement, _those_ teens had made better a bad situation and further increased their odds of surviving it, otherwise they'd be pulling up into a hail of arrows.

_Finally_ Astrid caught the beastie, and they snapped out of their dives and quickly pulled into steep climbs. The other teens were following behind, thankfully all accounted for. The arrow in his shoulder burned something fierce, but it was far too deep to just yank out. He had someone in mind to handle that particularly unpleasant job, and he cleared his throat at her as they drifted into a more level glide.

"Oh…" she said at the glares directed at her.

"Oh? _Oh!?_ Is that all yeh've got ter say?" Spitelout berated her. "Did yeh even _see_ the arrows we took for ya!?" Her wince said she did not, and he groaned. "Odin be _spanked_ girl, after all those speeches! Is the dragon a' least alive?"

She nodded fervently, and Spitelout slumped a little in the saddle. It wasn't for naught, at least, and he didn't need to berate her further; Stoick would handle that. "Alrigh' then, everyone back to the boat." He shot a look at Astrid that _dared_ her to argue, but between his useless arm and two of the dragons looking worse for wear from the extended burns, she seemed to think better of it. She had _some_ head on her shoulders at least.

"Give," Tuffnut ordered flatly, and she couldn't refuse. The black shape was handed over and the lad began fussing over it as they flew out to sea.

* * *

Blinding pain – darkness – his own roar in his ears – torchlight – familiar voices… Dreamer _tried_ to make sense of what was going on, but every nerve in his body was smouldering and his head was telling him to rip and shred at whatever he could to stop the pain. Not that he could so much as open his eyes, so he just dug his claws into the wooden – wooden? – floor and snarled through his teeth between bouts of unconsciousness.

He eventually woke with a somewhat clearer head, and set to work separating a more lucid part of his mind from the mad aggression that came with the poison. It was a bloody and constant fight for control, but he'd had quite a bit of practise.

Well, he was alive, for now at least. The sounds pressing into his ears placed him… on a boat? _What?_ He cracked an eye open, creasing his forehead as his eyes struggled to interpret the light. Yes, he was definitely on a boat.

A quiet and enquiring noise pricked his ears – _slash, maim, KILL!_ The aggression overpowered him and he stalked towards the source with a snarl crackling from his mouth, but whoever it was flopped onto their back and splayed out. The submissive act caused him to pause and he wrested back control, then tensely padded forward.

_Tuffnut_.

He recognised the hair immediately and paired it with his scent, and a whimper left his mouth. _Tuffnut!_ The sight of the teen had never brought so much happiness to him, probably to anyone for that matter. He gave his face a brief nuzzle and purred – wait, that was closer to a growl than a purr. _Hel claim those despicable arrows!_ He couldn't even sheathe his teeth, they remained locked out, so he backed up and unleashed some of his aggression on an unfortunate floorboard.

"Uhh, you okay Hiccup?" Tuffnut asked as he sat up again.

Dreamer responded with a sort of flat and quiet growl-snarl, and tried to chew a small lip on the board he'd been clawing at. Wait, the wound, the longer it went untreated the longer he would be like this. He sat on the base of his tail to inspect it, finding it had already been cleaned and treated. It smelled of Stormfly, and another purr-growl rumbled in his throat.

"Yeah, Stormfly wouldn't go near it until we cleaned it, and was a bit touchy after she did. You going to okay?"

"Food, water," he growled, then again wordlessly when he realised Tuffnut didn't know Dragonese. Or probably didn't, he _might_ have learned it? Then again, he'd always been good at guessing. Either way, the boy produced a couple of fresh fish and a deep bowl of water that Dreamer bounded over to and dunked his snout in, though he had to be careful not to guzzle it too quickly.

With his belly full he had a bit more control again, and set about trying to sheathe his teeth. It was as if there was a great weight pulling them out, and he only managed to get them half in before they snapped out again. He made a frustrated sound; to his own ears it sounded like a tree snapping in half.

"Hey, don't worry about it. Here." Tuffnut slowly reached forward to take the now-empty bowl, and tossed it across the room.

Unthinking, Dreamer saw the movement and lunged for it, taking it in both claws and teeth and rolling with the momentum. Before he even came to a stop he violently thrashed his head from side to side, holding his quarry firmly in his fangs, then pinned it to the floor and _roared_ at it. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space.

Panting, he stared at the splintered bowl. His body was simmering with achievement, having successfully 'killed' the harmless lump of wood, but it tempered the aggression and he was able to relax a little. It was working faster this time, probably because the poison had been cleaned out more quickly; actually, it looked to still be night, he'd even woken up more quickly than usual.

…He'd always hunted _two_ rabbits after recovering though, so he picked up the bowl in his mouth and padded over to Tuffnut, then dropped it in front of him and nudged it forward. Tuffnut threw it again and Dreamer scrabbled after it, though his 'kill' was much less violent this time.

His habit sated, he managed to sheathe his teeth and took a moment to investigate his surroundings. Aside from a crate of miscellaneous supplies and few barrels of what smelled like preserved fish, and probably water, the hold of the ship was open and empty. It didn't look like Hooligan workmanship.

"Yeah, we emptied out one of the Berserker boats we had and sailed it over." He took a long, pained breath. "We… couldn't hang around to find Toothy. I'm… We're sorry…" His words were tangled in _sorrow, tension, anger_.

_Wanderer_… They needed to find him. Dreamer let out a low whine, it was an old pain now but without being in immediate danger himself it was becoming more prominent. He huffed to get Tuffnut's attention, then held his gaze and shook his head side to side.

"No? He's not here?"

"You understand?" Dreamer asked tentatively.

"I don't understand that yet. But I will, now we've got you back. Lemme get Fishlegs." He leaned on an arm to swing his feet around, preparing to stand, but Dreamer stepped forward and pawed at his leg. After a moment's hesitation, the legs were crossed and allowed him to carefully lay himself across them and curl up; before anything else, he needed some reassurance.

A grateful and mournful purr rumbled in his throat as a hand began stroking his head and neck, lingering over his sensitive frills. He wasn't sure if it was this young mind and body that made him needy like this, or simply his new way of life allowing him to be more open with himself. Then again, while he'd had some harrowing experiences in his old life, they had all been _nothing_ compared to the last few weeks. He no longer cared.

So he allowed himself to find comfort here, to help reassure him that he was _finally_ safe again, and quickly fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

* * *

Astrid stood numbly at the till, watching the horizon begin to glow as dawn neared. She continuously worried the handle, as if she could rub off the oily and stained feeling after working the arrow out of Spitelout's shoulder. He was sleeping now, propped up against Kingstail with his shoulder bound tightly and arm strapped to his chest.

She'd really screwed up. Spitelout had let up quickly, but she had no doubt Stoick would… actually, she didn't know how Stoick would react. Everything had turned out okay, with little credit to herself, and they'd rescued one of them; Hiccup, judging by the scar across his leg, though he was now _covered_ in new ones. She was getting lectured and punished either way, but the Chief's disappointment was much more difficult to deal with. In a way, it was harder not knowing what he would think.

The approach of Meatlug's buzzing wingbeats tore her from her thoughts, Snotlout had yet to even wake to take the watch so Fishlegs must have seen something. "Ship ahead!" he called once in earshot, landing on the deck a few moments later. "Don't recognise the design, no markings. Probably Outcasts."

A couple of under-equipped strays wouldn't give five dragons much trouble, but best to steer clear. "Thanks Fish. You might as well go wake up Snotlout, you know what he's like."

He gave her a nod and a sympathetic smile before walking off.

She had to resist locking the till to poke her head down on things below. Tuffnut had been very firm in demanding she stay out, and it was hard to argue when even Fishlegs deferred to his authority on the wellbeing of the Furies. Still, she was a little worried, there were some very pained sounds through the first half of the night that suddenly turned loud and aggressive. It had been eerily quiet since, but neither Tuffnut nor Fury had emerged. Things had to be okay down there.

First half of… The sun was now rising, and she hadn't slept since the night before. As a Viking she could go two or three days straight where she needed to, but she didn't even feel tired. Weary, perhaps, but there was an unsettled buzzing in her head that refused to abate.

Astrid shook her head and kept an eye out for the ship, Fishlegs helpfully showing Snotlout to it and giving her a bearing. She adjusted their course accordingly, giving it a wide berth; as if the nearby dragons weren't enough of a deterrent.

However, the ship began moving to intercept them. _That can't be good_. She angled to the other side, just in case it was a coincidence, but it swung around in front of them again.

Locking the till, she quietly crossed the boat and gave Kingstail a reassuring stroke on his cheek before nudging Spitelout's boot. "Hey, wake up, we've got company."

"Eh…? Wassat…?" he mumbled groggily.

"Strange boat with no markings, moving to intercept us. Can you fly? I'd rather play this safe."

He found his helmet nearby and clapped it onto his head, then stood stiffly and held his injured shoulder. "Ah'd rather no', tha' was definitely the first arrow yeh've pulled. Well if they ain't Berserkers we should be fine, five dragons shoul' be more than enough fer any boat even withou' riders."

Astrid brought her fingers to her mouth to whistle loudly, then made exaggerated arm motions for Snotlout and Fishlegs to approach the boat from the other side. Ruffnut managed to corral Barf and Belch to the side of the ship, ready to act, and Kingstail happily perched on the prow without instruction. Stormfly clucked irritably at him, then squeezed around the mast to take up a position near Astrid.

The other ship, now off to the starboard side, turned to match their heading and slowly pulled closer. As it neared, she inspected the design herself. It seemed to take a middle ground of all designs, except that it had very little ornamentation and was built with a very dark wood. That, plus its tattered and dirty sail that bore no markings, almost certainly pegged it as Outcast vessel.

But what would the Outcasts want with them? "Ruff, be ready to sink their boat if I give the signal."

"What's the signal?"

Astrid rolled her eyes and made a chopping motion.

"Alright then. Blow the boat up if you do that. Got it. If you don't do that, can I blow it up anyway?"

…Maybe it had been a good idea to clarify what the signal was. "No."

"Aww."

"If you two are _quite_ done, yeh migh' wan' ter pay attention to who's on tha' boat. 'Caus if ah'm not mistaken, ain' tha' your friend?"

Peering across the distance, Astrid tried to make out who he was referring to. It was covered in junk, barrels, and old bits of wood, much of it draped in rags, so it took her a moment to pick out the lone figure aboard. Recognising her was much faster.

"_HEATHER!?_"

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_Oof, this chapter did not want to come together, but got there in the end. That, combined with an exhausting two weeks of various family drama, hasn't left me with much of a buffer xP_

_The next chapter at least will be ready on time, in which you guys have a couple of reveals to look forward to..._


	19. Understanding

Heather cringed at the accusing shout that drifted over the water. Well, at least this time she could explain, it was part of the plan, even.

She held her arms out to show she was unarmed, and kept them visible as the two boats drifted nearer. There was an additional Nadder on the deck than was expected, Spitelout too who might have been more of a problem had his arm not been bandaged and bound to his chest. Getting off Berserk had been an extremely difficult task in itself, let alone with the required items, so this had better be worth it. Whoever the plant was, they'd been no help whatsoever beyond delivering the message. Typical.

The till was locked so the boat was going straight ahead, but Astrid angled their boat to pull it in more quickly and levelled out with the railings almost touching, Spitelout adjusting the sails to match their speed.

"Astrid! I'm sorry, just let me–"

"I don't want to hear _anything_ you have to say! You're going to climb over here, and–"

Well, she had tried. It worked either way, much faster than expected. Whatever else Astrid had been demanding was cut off as quiet _fwip_ sounds, barely audible over the sea rushing past below, preceded loud dragon screams. One such scream hurtled down behind her to splash into the water.

"_Please_, just don't kill them!" Heather implored Savage over the din as he appeared from between the mast and the narrow bed leaning up against it, but he ignored her to drop the heavy clamp over the two railings and lock the boats together, just before they could pull away. If she could just get to Astrid first, and ideally the other teens to knock them out, then maybe–…

Wait… _One_ splash?

The last dragon roars were coming from above her, and she spun to find Meatlug still hovering in the air. An arrow was definitely poking out from her underside, and it was definitely one of the poisoned Berserker arrows she'd stolen, but it wasn't taking effect. Fishlegs looked just as surprised as Heather did.

Both Heather and Savage backpedalled as Meatlug swooped down with an angry growl, barging into the Nameless as he drew a more mundane arrow. The impact sent him flying over the railing to Spitelout's feet, where he was casually kicked onto his back and stabbed through the heart.

Astrid looked like she was about to jump over to throttle Heather herself, but held back. "Here's what's going to happen," she called out instead, addressing Savage, and Heather's stomach dropped. "You're going to send Heather over, and you can go. Tell the other Outcasts how _stupid_ it is to attack a Hooligan vessel when you eventually get back. Or, Meatlug up there sinks your boat and we fish her, and _only_ her, out of the water. Up to you."

She hadn't even finished talking when Heather was hefted by the back of her shirt and tossed over. Her legs caught on the railing and sent her tumbling, then Astrid kicked her in the side and planted a boot on her shoulder. Over her own gasp and groans, she heard the clamp being lifted and distantly noticed the mast of the other ship drift away.

The moment Astrid had started talking, she'd known this was coming. There was no loyalty between Outcasts, just fear of Alvin, and Savage could pretty much invent any story he wanted. With no chance of escape, Heather was left alone to wheeze out her pain while boots thumped around her and the boat turned back for Snotlout. She was painstakingly dragging herself into a sitting position when a wet teen and limp dragon flopped onto the deck, and then she found herself looking up at Astrid.

"Well well, this is a nice bonus," she chirped. "Chief is _not_ going to be happy with you, he's rather attached to his Furies you know."

"Just… Let me explain…" Heather forced out.

"And why exactly should I do that?"

"Because Toothy… is on Outcast Island."

* * *

Astrid paced the deck. Things had been so much simpler as a Shieldmaiden – axe, bad person, arrange a meeting. It was a much more difficult task to determine whether or not someone _was_ a bad person. Heather was forced into her actions by threats to her mother, so did her actions still make her bad?

No, she decided. Just stupid. "If you'd just told us, we could have mounted a rescue! We have dragons for Thor's sake, nobody would care if we burned up a couple of Outcasts."

"Do you know where Outcast Island is?" Heather snapped back. "Because I don't. They shut me in the hold for two days' sailing around it."

"We! Have! _Dragons!_" Astrid repeated, trying to shout the stupid out of the girl's head. "Stormfly can cover a day's sailing by mid-morning, and you can see a half day's sailing in every direction!"

"…Oh…"

"Yeah, _oh_." She rubbed her aching head. With the adrenaline wearing off her, her lack of sleep was catching up and her thoughts becoming sluggish again. "What do you want to do, Spitelout? We're out here already."

"Ah'm no too happy with yeh last performance, lassie," he grumbled back, "bu' Stoick'll have me axe if we don' at least check it ou'." He strode over to address Heather directly. "Wha's the defences of the island like? Any experience fighting dragons?"

"Minimal, and no. Only experience anyone has is before being outcast. There's nothing there for anyone or anything to want. Most are experienced with a bow, but they don't know what the Berserkers use on their arrows, those were stolen." She sounded like she was giving a report. This was the true Heather, with the façade stripped away. Had anything of their friendship been real?

"Well, no harm in checkin' then, as long as the beastie we have is good to come along."

"I can guarantee he is," Tuffnut called over, just his head poking from the hatch to the hold. "Wouldn't tell him, though. Oh, hey Heather."

Heather stared at him blankly. "Er… hey."

"'Hey Heather'? You do realise this is the girl who kidnapped the Furies, right?" Astrid asked him incredulously.

"Yeah I know. But if I get angry I'll be tempted to let Hiccup up here, and–" His voice became muffled as he turned back down to the hold, and he adopted that weird smooth voice he always used around the Furies. "Hey! No! No biting. No, making me angry with _you_ doesn't count. Stop it. Anyway, whatever was on those arrows is messing with him. I'll let you know when he's calmed down."

"Weird," Fishlegs mused. "Stormfly, Kingstail and Hookfang are basically fine now, just tired, and Meatlug wasn't affected at all. Why would it affect different dragons in different ways? If it was some kind of mineral, that might explain why a boulder-class…"

Astrid couldn't really follow his rambles. It didn't matter anyway, Furies got hit hard, Gronckles were immune. Good to know. "Mind taking over, Spitelout? I need a break…" She didn't wait for an answer, staggering over to Stormfly – barely resisting the urge to kick Heather's feet on the way past – and propped herself up against her dragon's side. Stormfly clucked and offered a gentle nuzzle, then draped a wing over her to shade her from the rising sun.

* * *

The slow, peaceful rocking of the boat was quite pleasant to wake to. Better than the forests on Berserk, better than the aggression and agony of the poison, and better than the earlier pained shrieks.

Dreamer was alone, and it appeared to be night. A perfect time to go out and fly. He climbed the ladder and squeezed himself through the trapdoor, doing his best to lower it quietly.

"Hiccup?"

_Rats_. He could talk to Fishlegs later, right now he wanted, _needed_ to fly, and ignored him to take off.

It took him a few moments to find his rhythm, being still mostly unfamiliar with his damaged tail, but he got there. He _really_ hoped it could be corrected, he might not be grounded but he was definitely crippled.

Even still, he was _flying_, just for the fun of it, and it felt _glorious_. With nothing to echo against, his long and joyous roar was swallowed up by the night, but it was satisfying nonetheless.

Between his awkward flapping and atrophied muscles he quickly tired and glided back down to the ship, which was making slow but steady process with the night wind. He noted Stormfly curled up on the deck, he needed to thank and catch up with her at some point but when she wasn't sleeping.

"Hiccup? It _is_ you, isn't it?" He huffed in reply. "Can… we talk?" Another huff. If he wouldn't ask properly, in Dragonese, he wouldn't get a proper answer. But Fishlegs took it as confirmation and locked the till to open the hatch to the hold, then descended down after him.

It was dark even to Dreamer with the hatch closed, but Fishlegs found and lit a lamp to bathe the open space in a warm light. "I… got a look at your tail while you were out." Dreamer gave a low croon to that. "B-but aym ssure whe can ket it fixed! Somehow…"

"I have thinking," he replied. "Maybe Tree-Paws make thing."

"Tree paw? Gobber?" He was already speaking too quietly for eavesdroppers, but dropped to a murmur. "You can go through me if you want. It wouldn't be suspicious."

Dreamer chuffed, then they sat in silence for a little while.

"It was hard," Fishlegs eventually said. "Nobody else knows. I mean, everyone was devastated Dagur got away with you, but being the only one to know… I don't even know how to put it to words."

He looked at Fishlegs. Really _looked_ at him. The boy had lost weight, his eyes had dark bags under them, and he held himself with a weary relief. The way he spoke was much gentler and calmer than usual too. They had been the closest things to friends either of them had had, and now things had become weird between them. Well, they had been weird. Dreamer just felt kind of blank now. His prior issues all seemed petty after Berserk, including everything with Fishlegs.

That led him to a conclusion. "Hey. Not think that. I not him. That Long-Paw dead. I _Dreamer_." He stood to his fullest, flexing his wings and holding his head proud. "I Nightstriker. This me now. You ask before, if I want be Nightstriker. _Yes_. I much better Nightstriker. I much happier."

He let out a quiet whine. "I happier with Wanderer…" Something flashed across Fishlegs' face, a moment of hope lightly tinged with amusement. "…What?" He feigned ignorance. "You know thing. Tell."

"Uh… Well, Heather was the one who took you, maybe she knows something…?"

Dreamer growled under his breath. "_Tell. Me._"

Fishlegs shuffled uneasily. "I don't know all the details… If we can get her back to Berk, she can stand trial, and everything will come out then." That was no lie, but was he still hiding more? It was difficult to tell, he was just generally nervous now. Dreamer sighed. It would all come out when they got back to Berk either way, but the wait would be hard.

They sat in silence for a while longer. "What's it like, anyway? Being a dragon."

_Snort_. One could no more put that to words, particularly in Dragonese, than one could describe being a human. "It good for me. I stronger. Talking easier. Say thing but no words." He padded forward and thanked Fishlegs properly, with a nuzzle to the face and a rumbling purr. A hand awkwardly patted his neck before he stepped back. "For help free me."

"Eheh, no problem… So, you'd rather this, even though the likes of Dagur will hunt you to Valhalla?"

Dreamer shrugged. "He hunt me when I Long-Paw too."

"…Ooh, right, forgot about that. Yeah, you had it pretty rough. It was bad enough for me, but you had it a lot worse."

"Also when I grow big, can fight. Hard with small body, not thing I could do as Long-Paw." Then he grinned. "Also, I Nightstriker. After pawful of season-cycles, Long-Paws run, hide, hope I not find them."

Fishlegs gave a strange chuckle, then paused with an odd reluctance. "I just worked it out. Why this bugged me so much. I'm… envious."

That took Dreamer _completely_ by surprise. His mouth might have hung open a little.

"Giffen the choys I do't thinnk I would! Nee'to be able to write, eheh. But… you can go anywhere you want, live wherever you want, you can _fly!_ I mean, we all can, but it's not the same is it?" Dreamer shook his paw. "Thought not. What are they like, anyway? Your wings?"

_This_ was the Fishlegs Dreamer had known, someone bubbling with enthusiasm and unwavering curiosity, and he was more than happy to proudly show himself off to this person.

But as Fishlegs tested his strength and delicately stroked the fingers in his wings, he was reminded more and more of Wanderer's absence, and his enthusiasm quickly waned. They needed to find him. "Sorry, you must be tired," Fishlegs mumbled dejectedly. "I should get back to the till. You staying down here?"

"No," Dreamer shook back, and Fishlegs left the hatch open for him to climb out of. He immediately went over to Stormfly, intending to curl up under her wing – but Astrid was already there. _Heh, guess I'm not the only one_, he chuckled, fondly remembering the nights with Wanderer in the cove.

Stormfly warbled wearily at him, inviting him under, and he happily bundled himself in with the teen.

* * *

The entirety of the rock-hole stank of blood. His own blood, Wanderer knew, drops spattered and smeared here and there over the course of many nights, but it still stank.

It wasn't even a regular routine. Sometimes he would go up to two whole nights without as much as a single Long-Paw word spoken to him, and some lights he would be put through rounds of commands and punishment with little reprieve. Every part of this grated on him. He had no warning of when the Long-Paw would come, and every moment was spent in dread that it would, but at the same time he waited impatiently as it was only then that he was fed. Enough that he wasn't losing weight that he could tell, but not quite enough.

He also couldn't exercise anymore. He had the space to run around a little, but it was now too painful to actually do. Just something else in a long list of grievances that were gradually wearing him down. At least he still had that one tool, carefully hidden from his captors, but they had yet to present him with an opportunity and he would not waste it. He had to admit, he didn't know what such an opportunity would be.

Laying on his side, watching the clouds drift past overhead. It made his wings ache to be up there, but stretching and flapping them afterwards was almost a good feeling. He took what he could get.

A silhouette lazily wheeled overhead. A Spine-Tail perhaps. One was rare enough, but now there was another one. A pawful, even. This was exciting, and he longingly stared up at them as they drifted around. He cocked his head as they all came together in a hover. That was very strange, hovering was an extremely inefficient way to fly and no wing-hunter would do so without reason.

They swooped down and out of sight. Wanderer considered flying up to the metal web to see if he could catch a glimpse of where they were going, but decided against it. Wing-hunters were dangerous to fledglings, particularly injured ones.

Strange sounds pricked his ears. Long-Paw shouts, loud enough to echo off the large jagged rock that shadowed the rock-hole. A raid? No, not during the light, and there weren't enough hunters. He allowed himself to hope for an opportunity, but expected none. With his dwindling will, he couldn't afford to be too disappointed.

It was hard to adhere to that commitment when the despicable greedy Long-Paw entered the rock-hole. "_Come_," it barked at him, and he pointedly yawned back at it, though inwardly he was cringing. But the Long-Paw didn't hold the tail of the binding around his neck, and it looked impatient. It strode towards him, which didn't bode well. There was no point in running, but he couldn't help flattening himself to the ground. He didn't want to know what was coming next.

Surprisingly, he was picked up, the binding was carefully removed, and a foreleg looped around under his own to pin him to the Long-Paw's side as they moved to the exit of the rock-hole. Could this be his opportunity? It had not slipped up yet, but he would be ready for if it did.

The metal of the tunnel-mouths clanged loudly against the stone and rang painfully in Wanderer's head, but they were leaving. He was happy to be somewhere that did not smell of blood, though the stench of dirty Long-Paw that permeated everything else wasn't really an improvement.

A Spine-Tail swooped down, Wanderer hearing it more than seeing it, to burn a swathe of ground. There were suddenly a lot of panicked Long-Paw sounds coming from everywhere, but not from the one carrying him. It stayed in the shadows, moving quickly and quietly from tunnel to tunnel.

The sounds of fighting became distant as they descended into a tunnel with little light, and the smell of salt drifted up on the air. Sounds of water lapping against stone soon followed. The Long-Paw had still not slipped up.

It would not, he realised, it was too careful. By the time he was likely to get an opportunity, he would already be trapped again. There had to be something he could do.

The tunnel wasn't all that big… not quite wide enough to stretch his wings, but it should be enough. He took a deep breath, and let out a deafeningly loud shrieking roar that echoed up and down the tunnel.

A paw flew to his face to silence him.

_Snick_.

His fangs, having been constantly worked against the hard sheaths in his gums, shredded into the wrist of the foreleg – where he could see the soft flesh, this time. He twisted and yanked, ripping the paw free and finally eliciting an agonised scream from the vile creature. It was an extremely satisfying sound.

The foreleg around him loosened, and he struggled free to crumple to the floor. The paw tasted bad, but he swallowed it just to spite its previous owner before painfully pushing into the air. The tunnel was even narrower than he'd thought, though quite steep and he was able to half-glide down without too much trouble.

It opened out into a respectably large sea cave, illuminated by the sky-fire shining through a tall and narrow fissure.

Freedom.

He beat the air and rolled out into the open sky, then stretched his wings to their fullest and sighed in fierce relief as the wind caressed his whole body.

The distant call of a Spine-Tail quenched his enthusiasm. He needed to leave, but he could see nothing on the water and his strength was very limited. First he needed to work out where he was, but that meant flying above this small-land to see if he recognised it. Right into the path of the raiding wing-hunters.

The Spine-Tail called out again, _concern, worry, hope_, it said. _Storm-Fly!_ The overjoyed roar he'd been holding in burst out, and he let it sound without restraint as he angled his wings into the wind to soar high into the sky. He quickly spotted her and roared again, and they desperately flew for each other and looped merrily in the air.

_Understanding, trepidation, worry_, shouted the Long-Paw on her back, and she started flying with a little less wild enthusiasm. An explosion from below got their attention and Storm-Fly let out another roar; _relief, finished, away_, it said. Then she tried to grab him out of the air, but his instincts took over and angled him out of the way. He was a bit big for that. Hrrr, though avoiding the landing would be appreciated, and he wouldn't be able to fly for any great distance in this condition. After he'd had his fun, at least.

* * *

_Frolicking in the warm waters with her siblings, running and playing with claws clicking on the stones. Sire and Dam teaching them all to fly – that one sister who kept getting distracted and falling out of the sky. Sleeping in a warm pile under Dam's wings. Chewing Sire's horn, and perching on his neck to peer through his crest. Squeaking indignantly when he occasionally flattened it to squash her against him._

A clacking sound, one that often preceded commands. She was already staring at the source, waiting. There was no reason to be looking anywhere else.

The female. No commands for now.

_Dam preening her, showing her how to preen herself and–_

Another Long-Paw, unfamiliar, barking into the den over the commotion outside. That was _almost_ a command.

The frail Long-Paw making to leave with the female and the new one. _That_ was a command. Her body creaked and groaned as it sprung to obey, but then a sound rang painfully in her ears. A punishment? It was followed by more pain, a wetness that spread down her neck and beckoned to a peaceful darkness.

Had she got it wrong? These… commands were complicated, but… she was sure… she'd got… it… right…

* * *

The hold was a peaceful place to sleep after the forests of Berserk. Dreamer remembered thinking wistfully of sleeping in the warm sunlight, but now he just wanted somewhere dark and cozy to curl up. Tucked under Stormfly was perfect, but when she was up and about then in amongst the barrels carelessly stacked against the wall worked well enough.

Safe and protected like this, he was doing a lot of sleeping and resting to recover, but the hard thumps on the deck above roused him and pricked his ears. There was quite a lot of commotion, and then the ship lurched as the sail was presumably hoisted. _Something_ was happening.

He tumbled out of his nook and stretched, then cocked his head at the pained cries coming from above. Someone was hurt, and he couldn't work out who. It was hard to make out over the din the dragons were making.

Nosing the trapdoor open a crack, he peeked out across the deck. The dragons, with riders still on their backs, were huddled at the other end of the boat – Hookfang was actually crouched over the prow – and all chattering _excitement, relief_. Strange, given the pained human cries, but they were coming from elsewhere. There was a new woman propped up against the mast with a stump for a shoulder, wrapped in crude and bloody bandages, being seen to by Spitelout and Heather.

Since the poison had worn off he no longer wanted to tear the girl limb from limb, but he still growled at her.

_Desperate, hopeful_, came a terse croon.

A cool tension crept down Dreamer's back, and he crept out onto the deck… "Wanderer…?"

"_Dreamer!?_"

A long whine left his mouth, and then he was rushing at the dark shape that scrabbled out of the huddle. They didn't even slow down, crashing into each other with a force he felt to his _tail_ that hurt quite a lot but he didn't care and just whimpered and grappled and chewed and whined and _purred_ his relief as Wanderer did the same.

Time passed in a blur. His surroundings and what everyone else was doing, whether they watched, never even occurred to him. He had no idea how long it had been, but his throat ached and his tail stung from slapping against the deck for so long. The teeth in his ear didn't really hurt, and he was grateful for them. No doubt Wanderer felt the same about the teeth in his leg.

Their stories were very different now, and Dreamer ached with both happiness and sadness as he breathed the warm and familiar scent and sifted out the new parts. A strong musk of tension and fear, bitter blood, almost-bad fish, and ropes. The scents, each speaking of their own poor treatment, also smelled stagnant and stale. He decided to fix what Stormfly had apparently started, beginning with the leg he was still chewing.

…Wait… There was something wrong here. The leg was being held strangely. Now he was looking, it only took him a moment to notice the claws were short and blunt. He whined sadly and made to lick them, but Wanderer pulled the paw away and tucked it to his chest with the others. There was a similar whine as he felt a nose sniff at one of his arrow wounds, and then a warm tongue drag over it.

"Dreamer… You have many fight-hurts," his friend crooned. It was the first thing either of them had said.

"Not fight hurts…" he lifted his wing to reveal the rest on that side, and the rawer ones found themselves being tended to. "From… flying-Long-Paw-claw, make sickness." He sighed as the enquiring nose brushed against his neck. "They from land-hunters, Long-Paw use for hunt." Wanderer made a confused sound.

But that wasn't even close to the worst of it. He lowered to the ground with trepidation, and swung his tail around. Wanderer's pained wheeze was hard to bear; he had his own experience with a damaged tail. "I still can fly, but not good. But I think it can be good again, have thought. Not worry," Dreamer reassured him. But something was niggling at him. "Your claws, bad also… You have more hurt…?"

Wanderer looked aside, ashamed, then opened his mouth and unsheathed his teeth. They were half as long as they should be. It didn't explain why he smelled so strongly of blood though, both his and another's.

"How…? No, we tell all. Talking about bad makes bad better…" But Wanderer only looked guilty at that. Dreamer nudged his snout with his own, and his friend sighed and reluctantly held a paw up.

Dreamer _whined_. The pad on the bottom was _shredded_, dozens of cuts lacing over and through older ones. Not accidental, not defensive, but methodical and intentional. Bounding over the deck had re-opened some of them, so Dreamer returned the favour and treated it. It was really just one big wound at this point. And the way the other paws were held… He gently teased them out and treated them as well.

"I do him worse," Wanderer chuffed proudly. "I _eat_ his paw." He then laughed.

As good as it was to hear that laugh, Dreamer gagged a little. He still remembered that taste. _Blegh_. Sure, he was licking Nightstriker hurts now, but that wasn't the same as eating it.

Wanderer recounted his story, how he'd lost his claws and teeth and how he tried to fight, that he nearly lost his thinking; a terrifying notion. Dreamer told his own tale, how Dagur had hunted him over and over with trap, arrow and dog until he broke himself out of the bindings, but found his tail had been too damaged by them to fly far.

"Wanderer," he whimpered quietly when he finished. "Teach me how fight…"

"Yes," Wanderer replied with a relieved and slightly pained laugh.

* * *

The Hooligans were all anxious to be home, but they were not Berserkers and did not row through the night, so without any real wind the anchor was dropped and everyone got some rest.

Nearly everyone. "Fly!" Dreamer was implored by an impatient Wanderer, and they happily took to the sky. Wanderer roared his delight much as Dreamer had a few nights ago, spinning, flipping and rolling in his mastery of the air. It tempered Dreamer's own excitement of flying a little, being so limited as he was, but he was still happy to be in the air and truly happy for his friend.

Their experiences, so similar in many ways, but mirrored in others. Dreamer was crippled in the air, Wanderer on the ground. It was good to see him moving properly again, even with the pang of envy that came with it.

"Come," Wanderer barked at him once they'd had their fun, and they glided down to a nearby sea stack from where the boat was visible a short distance away. Their bodies were still hot with exertion, but there was a crisp and chill north wind that bit into their scales and encouraged them to huddle together. A pleasantry they had been denied for too long.

"I learn fight now?" Dreamer asked, taking long breaths to slow his panting

Wanderer gave a low purr, but shook his paw. "I will teach, but not this night. You know much, just need do, but I not can teach with these hurts." They sat and watched the boat, the only thing in sight on the endless water. "You live through much bad this last sky-ice-cycle." It wasn't a question, so Dreamer said nothing. "I think… I can tell you. Tell you how hatch again."

Dreamer's ears went up and he spun on his friend. "Now!?" he squeaked. "Why now?"

"Nightstrikers told when firelings. I think that because fledgling can think life hard, but not understand true hard life. Maybe you understand before… as Long-Paw. Now you understand as Nightstriker also.

"I tell you what Sire tell me. He say 'Seasons you have lived, survive again.' Hatching again gives new body… but body new, small, defenceless. It not thing you want do." He brushed Dreamer's tail fins with his own. "You say you not want live on that small-land," he said quietly, with a hint of a whine. "If you have way for fix tail fins?" Dreamer rocked his head thoughtfully, lamenting not knowing sooner if only for another option, then barked when Wanderer thumped him with his tail. "_That_ why I not tell. You not survive as hatchling. When you first have good thinking last season-cycle?"

…_Oh_. He had a point. There was no way Dreamer could have survived long enough to build up the strength to fly again. Or even think rationally again. It wouldn't have been an option at all.

"Need good thinking for if do, but thinking hard as fledgling. This not easy flight from bad thing. Maybe I still not should tell… but you need know. Hrr, but maybe we not can make not-egg until bigger. I not know."

"Not-egg?" Dreamer warbled, simultaneously eager to get on with the explanation but also dreading hearing the answer.

"Yes," Wanderer chuffed. "Make new body, but not in egg. It… hard explain. When grounded, when need, can do. Just need want. Easy when grounded." Or, maybe, as an emotional fledgling hating himself for what he was… Yeah it was probably for the best he wasn't told earlier. "Eight-and-eight nights for body to grow."

Wait… "But when I die, you not have–" The realisation hit him. _He hadn't actually been needed_. Wanderer would have been capable of flying away on his–

The tail smacked him again. "Bad thought," Wanderer grumbled. "Alone-pain much more bad than grounding. I had new body, but wanted fly with you."

"I not see not-egg," Dreamer attempted to get back on track, wiping cool saliva onto the new bruise on his head.

"Not lay not-egg, just hatch," Wanderer chuckled, but then wilted a little. "It sound more bad when I say…"

"So what you not want me see… in hatching-den…"

_Chuff_. "My old body. It… not will smell good now. Not good thing for see."

Really, Dreamer should have seen that coming. Fishlegs had told him his own body had been given a send-off, logic dictated Wanderer's body would have remained as well. He'd not known what to expect upon learning all this, but this talk was much more macabre than he'd imagined.

It was actually reassuring that no weird magic was involved… even if the truth of it was a _little_ disturbing. Nobody else was in danger of spontaneously becoming a Night Fury by hanging around them, anyway. It had been hard enough for him, he doubted anyone else could have survived it. Maybe Fishlegs. "You hatch two? That thing we can do?"

"I not know how, just do. Maybe because you in first body. It not matter." He purred and nuzzled Dreamer. "I happy I do."

"I happy also," Dreamer purred and nuzzled back.

"Just know, you hatchling, fledgling. That mean body, thinking, instinct, all. New body want sire, dam, that why need you-me-you much. Also sensitive, not mature. Also not can mate."

_…Thank you, I could have gone several more years without needing to know that particular word_, Dreamer sighed to himself, its definition blatant by the literal nature of Dragonese.

…

The blood rushed to his head. "I hatched again. I can make new body. We live _always!?_" Immortality was _not_ one of the advertised perks of being a Nightstriker!

Wanderer laughed, low and guttural. "No thing live always. Live until… not want live. When had long life, ready for not live. If something not kill us first."

That was… slightly less daunting than _forever_. He wondered what Berk would look like in a hundred, two hundred years. Maybe he would find out. The teens, Gobber, Stoick, would all be long gone by then.

But it put something into a sobering perspective. He nuzzled into Wanderer, shuffling closer with a happy purr. _Neither_ of them would be alone for this journey.

* * *

Wanderer felt strange upon seeing the enormous and familiar mountain rising in the distance. It was his current home, but the only thing really holding him there was Dreamer who was not currently there. Still, he was looking forward to sleeping in the safety and familiarity of their new den, swimming in the lake in the cove, even playing with the innocent and playful Long-Paw hatchlings.

As much as he was looking forward to it however, Dreamer was clearly much more impatient to be back, standing on the tip of the floating-tree-thing where he squeaked excitedly. Wanderer couldn't blame him; the occasional squeak made it out of his own mouth.

Normally they would just fly ahead, but Dreamer's flying was not good. This worried Wanderer, but Dreamer was confident it could be corrected. They would at least be better prepared if needed, but it would not be good to need to hatch again so soon. Wanderer himself already felt he'd spent more time as a fledgling than as a fireling and adult, and he was impatient to grow. That wasn't the way this flight should be flown.

Wrrr, there was nothing he could do about it. He just had to enjoy what he had, and he would get there eventually.

He noted a growing crowd of Long-Paws on the clifftop, apparently eager for their return, foremost of those Dreamer's sire; his enormous stature and ridiculous face-fur were easy to pick out. As the floating-tree-thing neared, and presumably they spotted Dreamer standing on the front as he was, shouts of jubilance carried over the wind. Wanderer would prefer a quiet reception, but he supposed there was nothing he could do about this either.

This was excruciatingly slow though. How did Long-Paws stand to travel this way all the time? He could have flown there and back a pawful of times since the island had become visible. Dreamer eventually grew impatient himself and launched into the air, moving awkwardly but still much faster than the floating-tree-thing. Wanderer was with him on that wind, and winged up next to him.

Wingbeats behind them indicated the Two-Head, Flame-Scale and Rock-Scale following suit, the two Spine-Tails remained behind presumably to guide the floating-tree-thing back. The others made short time of the remaining distance and landed out of sight. As Wanderer and Dreamer neared and flew above the small-land it was clear they'd set up a safe clearing for them to land in, in which the Nightstrikers set down; Wanderer doing so very gently.

Dreamer's sire entered the clearing to stand with the young Long-Paws, and again all hunched and spread their forelegs in _welcome_. It was difficult to get a read on the big Long-Paw's expression, but he looked relieved. The two Nightstrikers lowered their heads a little in _humility_, and then padded forward. Wanderer had known this was coming, and was fully prepared to mimic Dreamer's heartfelt reunion with his sire regardless of how he felt himself – but to his surprise, his friend-mate only reared up to nuzzle the proffered hand, and happily accepted some head scratches.

That was all Wanderer wanted, but given his resolve to do more it was a bit of a let-down. He nearly asked Dreamer about it, but remembered one of the Long-Paws present would understand and didn't know their origin. He would ask later.

The big Long-Paw kneeled and murmured sympathetically as he eyed the hurts over Dreamer, who looked away abashedly, then offered Wanderer a warm smile; there was no point showing off his own hurts. Dreamer's sire then shouted _relief, joy, welcome_, into the crowd, promising food and celebration, and _that_ was a wind Wanderer would fly happily.

This light they would feast, after which they would sleep much… and then it was finally time to get Dreamer fighting properly.

* * *

_Danger!_

Dreamer snapped to alertness and scrabbled back to wedge himself into a corner, eyes wildly trying to take everything in and failing to see anything. He huddled there, gasping for breath and desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings before they could take him again.

A calm but worried croon rolled over him as a wide tongue glided up his face, and he blinked. Wanderer would not lick him if either of them was in danger. Wait, Wanderer?

Awareness crept back in. He wasn't on Berserk anymore. He wasn't even in a forest. _Just a dream_… Wanderer coaxed him away from the wall and wrapped him up, humming _safe, secure, protect_. Dreamer gradually relaxed, his breathing slowing, it was difficult to argue with the wordless promises purred into his ears…

He was just drifting off when it happened again, though being slightly more lucid his reaction was less severe; still wide awake and tense, breathing hard, but at least he hadn't scrabbled away in a panic.

Wanderer warbled thoughtfully. "Stay, I come back," he murmured as he rose, then padded to the entrance of their den and disappeared into the pre-dawn light with a rush of wings. He returned a few minutes later and wrapped Dreamer up again, resuming his comforting humming and purring.

His breath smelled of feathers. That was strange. But Dreamer slept soundly after that.

* * *

The ways Wanderer had been trying weren't working, that was clear. He hadn't wanted to pressure Dreamer about it, but now that he had _asked_ to be shown Wanderer would not hold back. And the first step was asking Dreamer how he _wanted_ to be taught, what would work for him.

And he'd admitted… he didn't know. So that went back to Fish-Legs, while they had still been travelling, and Wanderer had sat patiently in the belly of the floating-tree-thing while he and Dreamer talked about it. The conclusion they'd reached, and would now be putting into practice, was something Wanderer didn't entirely agree with.

"Slow," Dreamer reminded him, as if he'd forgotten.

Wanderer rolled his eyes, then grunted a challenge. The paw moved slowly through the air, and he moved just as slowly to avoid it. This was silly, he could not jump or dart around this slowly so this was not a true fight, but he would try it. These weren't normal circumstance, and normal methods wouldn't or hadn't worked. He was desperate.

The young Long-Paws and their nest-friends were with them on the grassy area, initially watching in amusement but quickly moving on to doing their own things. Understandable, this was probably quite boring to watch. Except for Fish-Legs, who kept a close eye while making lines in his Long-Paw-thing.

They picked up the pace and moved a bit faster, Dreamer focusing on the offensive – that was key to winning any fight. Nightstrikers struck fast and won quickly, focusing on defence was just a slow way to die. Defending was important, but secondary.

Dreamer was quickly showing, however, that he knew more than he'd ever let on. He was focused, somehow taking this very seriously, and – once they were moving fast enough – used his weight efficiently. As they picked up the pace, faster and faster, Wanderer began having a much harder time keeping him back.

"Fast now," Wanderer offered, taking a defensive stance, and Dreamer chuffed. The Long-Paws went silent as they started watching again; interesting that Dreamer didn't seem to mind that now.

Dreamer darted to the side, Wanderer spun to face him and was attacked while his stance was off. He was barely able to block, and dodging the next strike with only one forepaw on the ground tore some of his cuts open, a minor irritant. He was rammed and sent stumbling back, but trying not to go overboard to do himself further injury, and without attacking, he was quickly overwhelmed. Sounds of _joy, congratulations_ sounded out as Dreamer removed his teeth from his neck.

Wanderer huffed. Dreamer clearly knew how to attack, so that wasn't the problem. At least this next exercise would be easier on his paws, as he would be the one controlling the fight as Dreamer defended. This was where he expected to find problems.

Again they started their slow fight, and the Long-Paws grew bored and went back to their own tasks. Again, Dreamer quickly showed he was capable of blocking and dodging, and he could find no real fault in technique, at least not while moving slowly.

He huffed again. "I think this stupid, you not learning."

"It giving me time to see, think, know how I should react," he replied. "I think it good."

"You not think for fight. Know where strike, not get struck. Not have time for think."

Dreamer shrugged. "I think now, I not need think later."

Rolling his eyes with a huff, Wanderer took his stance again. "Fast now," he grunted, growing impatient, then lunged with a snarl–

–and froze.

His teeth snapped back into his gums as he stared, one paw still in the air. "Too fast," Dreamer muttered, then blinked a few times and eyed him back curiously. "What?"

How had he not seen it before? But he had to be sure. His teeth slid back out and he curled his lips in another growl, leaning forward–…

And Dreamer, though more subtly, reacted the same way.

_Stupid_

Memories flashed in his mind. How had he not _seen_ this before? It had always been right there in front of him, every time he took the fight seriously, and every time he had only abused it.

_Stupid!_

The confusing teeth-hurts on his neck; only on his neck, nowhere else.

_How am I this STUPID!?_

Chastising Dreamer for crouching too readily, giving up his height. Not crouching. _Flinching. Cowering._ Offering an easy win. _Why?_

Dreamer shook his head again and rose, then warbled in concern. Wanderer barely noticed.

More memories. Back in the cove, Long-Paw Dreamer limping in after losing fights with nest-kin. _I not fighter_.

His vision dimmed at the edges as his eyes narrowed, showing him every detail of his Dreamer in excruciating detail; the slight tremble, how his tail was twisted on itself, his hunched posture to appear small and harmless. _He submit to end fight because he expect he lose_.

Something wasn't right about that. _Dreamer, distraught, limping into the cove. Losing the fights upset him greatly._ No, he _wanted_ to lose the fight, didn't want to fight all. It wasn't _losing_ that upset him, it was the fight _itself_. It wasn't his choice to fight.

It wasn't even a fight.

Again and again.

_Unforgivable_

Wanderer snorted the scents from his nose, digging deep into his memories. So vividly he recalled them that he even felt the pain of his missing tail fin. _Focus_. Surely, at some point… _There_.

And now he felt _really_ stupid. The signs were all there. He shouldn't have needed the lingering scents on Dreamer's hurts. Always the same scents.

Wanderer lifted his head and turned.

_UNFORGIVABLE!_

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_I tried to make it obvious, and it's not even an original theme (though I've yet to see it used outside a one-shot) but nobody mentioned anything even close. So no names to show here. On an unrelated note, I had slightly too much fun writing the start of the next chapter._

_Now, the not-egg scene has actually been sat in my folder since I tore it out of chapter 4. It felt out of place where it was, too soon, and I realised it would have negative effects on what I had planned with Dagur. So I decided to postpone it to the end of the first arc (which might be another ten or so chapters). However, when I finished the Berserk plot and started the reunion, I could no longer give Wanderer enough of a reason to hold it back, and it has been a bit drawn out already. So there you have it._

_This was my initial inspiration for this story, funnily enough; "How could a dragon Hiccup fic work without magic?" was the question I started with. If this answer to that question sounds convenient, know that I reached the same conclusion and we'll revisit it in the third and fourth acts - though it does not play a huge part in the plot, it is still important. When I added that answer (plus the ideas supporting it) to a bunch of other stuff I wanted to see, the overall premise and early chapters came together quite easily._

_As much as I don't want to leave you guys hanging on this for two weeks, though, there's no guarantee the next chapter will be ready in time. I'll try, if it's done I'll post it, but then after that I definitely need to catch up again._


	20. Redress

It was a natural sound, one of wilderness. A rockslide, rumbling down the mountain. A wildfire, splintering trees and consuming the foliage. Thor's lightning, splitting the sky and echoing into the distance. It was all these sounds rolled into one, a mix of them and also something in between. Even a human, so far removed from nature, could easily understand its meaning.

_Death_

The sound needled at the back of Snotlout's neck. The skies were clear, and there was no nearby mountain or forest. Not that it was likely that Ragnarok had started behind his back. He turned slowly, unsure of what he would find.

The sight that met him did not put him at ease; quite the opposite. The way Toothy moved was slow and measured, keeping perfect balance and coiled to spring in any direction. Prowling forward, his bared teeth gleaming in stark contrast to his black scales. But it was the eyes locked to his, the tranquil forest green marred with a fierce red gradient, that said more than anything else and locked any placating words in everyone's throats.

Toothy was going to kill him.

It didn't really occur to Snotlout to ask why at this point. Two years of peace was a long time, but fifteen years of war and fear was far too much to ever overcome completely. This wasn't playful little Toothy in front of him right now. This was a _Night Fury_, the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself, and it was _furious_. Snotlout, and everyone else, took an instinctive step back.

"_Oh…!_" Fishlegs' exclamation had some sort of deep realisation to it. "Snotlout!"

The tension snapped. Toothy began loping forward, and Snotlout backpedalled as fast as he could; he was _not_ turning his back to this thing! As he moved he fumbled for his axe and held it out, but it felt like a toothpick against the weight of what was bearing down on him and he almost immediately forgot he was holding it.

A draconic shout sounded over the din, and Hiccup bounded around to stand defensively between them, but a sound akin to the snapping of every tree in the forest had him skidding back out of the way.

Some low rise in the ground caught Snotlout's heel, and he landed on his rear. Toothy surged forward, appearing almost liquid in how he moved, and the axe was dropped as teeth bit into the arm holding it. Snotlout screamed, his other arm still propping him up and somehow unwilling to move with Toothy's weight bearing down on him. More pain erupted down his front as claws shredded through the flesh, and a cold chill swept through him as blood soaked into his shirt. That was it, it was only a matter of time now.

Something black collided with the dragon on top of him, the clamping pressure of the jaws loosening just enough that they left the arm intact as the pair tumbled away. Snotlout held it to his chest, growling through his clenched teeth and shuffling back.

The two dragons fought, snarling and clawing, until Toothy landed a solid hit on Hiccup's head – and hesitated. Hiccup straightened and, seeing his motionless opponent, thrust his wings out and _screeched_. There was a huff, and Toothy took to the air and quickly vanished.

Snotlout stared after him until he was sure he wouldn't return, then lay back with a groan. He never thought he would enter Valhalla this young, but when Odin called…

"Oh Thor, Snotlout, we need to get you to Gothi!" The voice of a Valkyrie? Nay, it was Astrid; close enough.

"There's nothing she can do," he said levelly. A calmness had settled over him and he barely felt the deadly wounds down his front, that was something he was told happened. He hoped the sight wasn't too gory though, he wanted to cut a fine, respectable figure on his pyre.

"Stop being so dramatic and get up," she snapped back. Hey, come on, Vikings were tough but with all his insides hanging out like–

Oh, he really _was_ fine. _Wha…?_ He lifted his head and poked a finger through his shirt, finding only shallow scratches… It took him a few moments to remember Toothy's claws had been blunted. He wasn't sure if Toothy himself had remembered that, and silently thanked the Outcasts; they had probably just saved his life.

Though now he looked like a complete fool. "Well, if you insist," he sighed, trying to salvage some of his dignity, and pulled himself upright. Before he had a chance to stand, however, he found himself flinching away from Hiccup. The smaller Fury was an image as far from aggression as a dragon could manage, but his interest in his arm was worrying. More so when he licked the wound. "Hey, get off." He pushed the dragon away and stood, wincing in pain. The wounds were all rather minor, including the bite, but there were a lot of them, and even blunted the claws had left his shirt in bloody ribbons.

He took a few steps towards the healer's hut, but then stopped and turned back. "Why, huh?" he asked Fishlegs. "What was that all about!?" to Tuffnut. "_Why?_" at Hiccup in Dragonese.

"_Sorry_," Hiccup offered back, but the two teens just stared blankly.

"Whatever!" Snotlout gave a frustrated wave of his good arm as he spun and stalked away.

* * *

"…What _was_ that about!?" Astrid exploded at Fishlegs the moment Snotlout had disappeared from sight.

"Um, uhh, hhhow would I know…?" he tried.

She got up into his face. "No. No playing dumb today. We gave them hospitality, remember? Do you know what that _means? Well!?_" Odin probably wouldn't smite a dragon, but that wasn't the problem; if the dragons themselves didn't observe it then it wouldn't protect them, quite the opposite.

"_Stop!_" he shouted, then pushed her away as he stepped back. "You think this is easy!? Every time someone has a dragon problem, they expect me to know all the answers, but I'm just guessing most of the time! Even this, I _might_ know, but it's a wild guess and I can't tell you either way!"

They stood and stared at each other in shock for a few moments, then both turned away at the same time. "Just give me some time to think and talk it over with them," he said more placidly.

"…Okay. Sorry, I guess we're all a bit stressed…" Completely removing her from Chiefing duties was supposed to help her _relax_, but it was doing anything but. At least now she had something to do; work out a loophole for Toothy, so they could try to reach a reasonable resolution.

"…I'm not stressed," Tuffnut said plainly, then cried out as Ruffnut stood on the back of his knee and clobbered him. Pity that wasn't a full-time job, she was very good at it.

Astrid eyed him as he groaned into the grass. "Alright then, what's your take on it?"

He shrugged. "Eh. Toothy is pretty straightforward, I'd say he had a good reason. Can't tell you what it is though. Hiccup looks like he might know, but he's too unsure about it to say. Let him talk it over with Fishlegs. We've got some time before Toothy comes back anyway."

Time. That was something Astrid _didn't_ have. "Alright, fine. I'm going to try to handle this, but we can't just ignore it either, so keep me posted."

She headed to Gothi's hut, racking her mind for anything of use. Whichever way she looked at it, Toothy had attacked and injured Snotlout, though not all that badly it seemed; the bigger problem was dissuading any rumours about an unprovoked attack by a dragon under hospitality. The most she could try to do was leverage it against Snotlout's own prior attack on Hiccup, though it was weak. It was still the best she had as she climbed the stairs up to the hut.

The tiny old woman, in the midst of applying a balm to a shirtless Snotlout, looked pleased to see her and gestured to her staff. On one hand, a little more time to think, on the other hand, getting Gobber involved might complicate things. She couldn't refuse anyway, and promptly fetched him.

"Hmm," the smith mused as he inspected Snotlout, already bandaged up and smelling thickly of leafage, then shuffled over to the sand Gothi had spread over the floor and was now scribbling in. "She says 'e was attacked by a drunk." _Whack._ "Ow! A dragon! He was attacked by a dragon. She needs ter know which type so she can treat 'im fer poison." _Whack._ "Hey! Wha…? Oh, _venom_. In case it was venomous. Wha's th' difference?" _Whack._ "Owww! Come on yeh old hag, ah'm jus' a blacksmith– alrigh' alrigh'! Erm, yeah. So?" He had addressed the patient, but Snotlout just looked blankly at Astrid, and then everyone was looking at her.

Why wasn't he answering? Maybe he just didn't want to admit to being beaten up by a little dragon with an adorable name like _Toothy_.

The answer hit her, and she took a deep breath so she didn't try to blurt it all out at once. "Thor, you should have seen him. Things got a bit heated, and one of the Furies put out a challenge. I'll tell you, that _sound_…" She shuddered, and it wasn't even faked. "Let's just say they live up to the name, _and_ the subtitle. We were all scared _witless_, but Snotlout had his axe out in a flash! 'Course, this _was_ still a _Night Fury_, there's just no taking one down, you know? I mean, how long would any of us last in the forests of Berserk? But hey, he's the first Viking I've ever seen to walk away from a fight with one."

Poor, predictable Snotlout. He was way too easy to manipulate, she'd need to get him out of that if he ever wanted to be Marshal. "Yeah, well, it was no big deal," he said nonchalantly, leaning back on the weathered chair. "Never seen a Night Fury scar before, figured I should get one."

Gothi rolled her eyes and tapped the end of her staff onto one of the strange glyphs she communicates in. "Is 'e _venomous?_" Gobber asked, putting particular emphasis on the word, then watched Gothi scratch some more glyphs. "If 'e is, we're gonna need some _venom_."

"Uhh… You know, I'm not actually sure. I don't think so. I can get some from Hiccup if they are, it doesn't have to be from the same dragon, right?"

"I' was Toothy? How could 'e be venomous, he aint even got teeth!"

"Tell that to my arm," Snotlout shot at him, and they glared at each other.

Astrid grinned, fondly remembering Stoick's – and her own – reaction nearly a year ago. "They both do, they can just sheathe them so it usually looks like they don't."

"They can _wha'?_" Gobber stared off into the distance for a moment. "Ah'm gonna _kill_ Tuffnut," he mumbled before hobbling off down the steps.

* * *

Heather grimaced the disdain in Stoick's eyes as looked down on her mother. She was in a wretched state, even compared to normal with her arm bitten off at the shoulder as it was now. None of the Vikings were sympathetic about it, or to their story. They might have been if she'd been open with them in the first place, but would things have turned out any better?

Maybe, maybe not. Either way, she could only do what she always had; move forward. At least she'd been able to – forced, even – explain and apologise, but she had a feeling it was less that and more the whims of the two Furies that had avoided her the death penalty. The way Stoick stroked his axe whenever he looked at her made his opinion very clear.

She glanced back at him as her little boat pulled out of the harbour, the very figure of a Viking Chief. Half as tall again as most Vikings, twice as wide, and with a fanning beard as long as her arm. The Night Fury draped over his shoulder was overkill, really, particularly with all that Alvin had done in unsuccessfully trying to get one to cooperate with him.

Berk would definitely be a place to keep an eye on–

No, she didn't need to think like that anymore. Right now, all she wanted to do was sail home, plead with the lord to return their land and possessions, and live some semblance of a normal life. And that was exactly what she was going to do.

* * *

Wings burning with exertion and occasionally grunting in effort, Dreamer hobbled through the air over the main island. He was wary, because if another dragon decided he might be a tasty snack he would have more trouble evading, but was confident enough to dive down into the trees at least. Hopefully the device Gobber was working on would set him right, but it would take time and he wouldn't be able to fly at all while it was on. Something for the winter, which was fast approaching.

For now, he needed to find Wanderer. At least he had a pretty good idea of where he would hang out for two days. On the other paw, this was going to be an awkward conversation.

He got there eventually and glided down to their little beach, then padded up into the cave. A dark figure at the back lifted its head at his arrival, but nothing was said, even when Dreamer approached and lay down in front of him.

The silence stretched out. Wanderer was clearly pleased to see him, but there was a lot more going on as well; _uncertain, angry, hurt, relieved, disappointed_, and a storm of other muddied cues mixing with and garbling each other. Dreamer himself was probably a similar mess, as he couldn't find any way to broach the topic either. He gave up and tried another approach. "We hunt…?"

_Relief_ overpowered Wanderer's features at that. "Yes, we hunt. I hungry. Not eat last night…" Dreamer warbled _worry_.

They flapped out of the cave and up to where the boars frequented, then sniffed around for a trail. Dreamer was beginning to worry they'd moved away when Wanderer picked up the faintest trace, and they followed it through the woods; ancient as it was, it would lead them to fresher trails.

It took time to follow the faint and scattered scent, but eventually they were loping along after a fresher trail of a male, adult and likely to be alone. They found it sleeping in a cave, and though they made no sound it snorted its awareness of their presence.

This was not an adolescent, like they had hunted last year, but a fully grown and battle-scarred wild boar. Its long tusks carved through the air as it rose and turned to face them with a squeal of _challenge_. Dreamer glanced at Wanderer, who shrugged and stalked out along the wall of the cave, attempting to flank it.

The boar charged at Dreamer, those tusks promising a painful death, and he jumped over the top of it; with his wings he cleared the danger easily. Their quarry continued running off into the forest with a squeal.

Wanderer and Dreamer shared a look, both snorted "Stupid," then loped along after it. They easily caught up and shredded its unprotected flanks, then Wanderer pinned it while Dreamer bit through its neck.

The meat was tough and Wanderer took most of the fat for himself, but that was fine. He was the hungrier one, and Dreamer found more flavour in the organs anyway. Vikings always took them out and mixed them with other things or cooked them into pies or sausages, but this way – still warm and bleeding – was much better, if less convenient. He had missed hunting large prey.

Dreamer sat back with a full belly and a sigh, then cleaned himself while he waited for Wanderer. It gave him time to get his thoughts straight. "Why you attack rock-head?" he asked, his tone simply curious, as the bigger and hungrier Nightstriker finished gorging.

"Why you not?" Wanderer growled back, then huffed. "I know why you not. I see your hurts when you Long-Paw."

That was what Dreamer had suspected, though he still didn't understand why that was such strong motive. "I forgive him."

"I not," Wanderer snarled. "He… I not even have words. For attack a fledgling who not will fight, not _can_ fight. 'Bad' not enough."

"It how our nest work. Fledglings fight for get strong."

Wanderer stared at him. "You not this stupid. We fight you-me-you for get strong. He fight you for make you strong?"

"…No…"

"No," Wanderer huffed, satisfied. "We kill him now? You do, my claws–"

"No!" Dreamer growled at his friend. "Kill Long-Paws bad. They think like us. I know, I was Long-Paw!" He groaned. "This not good. Nest want know why you attack him. What we say? I not want leave, but they think you not have reason for attack, think you bad." That wasn't _quite_ true, Astrid had somehow smoothed it over, but she still needed placating herself.

"He deserve more…" Wanderer muttered. "You know why you not can fight?"

"I…" He stared blankly at the ground. For some reason, he was unable to deny it.

His friend padded over with a sad whine and affectionately rubbed against him. "I not like see you hurt, but I not know how fix this hurt…" Another whine, even sadder. "I sorry I not see before. I not think, not see, just take advantage every fight… I very sorry…"

Dreamer hugged him close with a wing. There was something wrong about this, but he wasn't sure what it was. Either way, Wanderer quickly shook himself out of his sadness and the embrace with a huff. "Tell nest what you want tell. Or not tell, we strong enough for fly to egg-nest for survive cold-season. I not care." He stared at Dreamer with his ears back. "I not will attack rock-head, or other fledglings, because you forgive, but I not forgive him."

Well, he supposed he couldn't ask for more. "Yes. I had talk with Fish-Legs, we think something. But," he bopped Wanderer with his tail, then waved it, "not can fly to egg-nest. Was hard for fly here." He spoke over the guilty mumbles. "I good, not worry. Now… I thinking I not seen you for two nights!" He pounced, and they played properly for the first time since they had been taken from the island.

* * *

Staring at but not really seeing it, Dagur turned the heavy dagger over in his hands. His focus, his drive, burned in him stronger than ever now that _both_ of his Night Furies had been stolen away from him. Probably by Berk this time, though nobody had got a good enough look to see if any of the dragons had riders. None of the survivors, anyway.

It didn't matter. He'd got what he wanted, minus some snazzy additions to his wardrobe, it had just had a very unsatisfying end. How was he supposed to show it his respect now? He'd just need to put what he'd learned to good use instead.

Vella entered his house, and Dagur noted the matching dagger at her belt. "You've still got it, good." She was a very sensible person, he almost never wanted to kill her. "Get my ship ready, we leave at dawn." He had his full off-island allowance saved up, it might be a while before he was back. "Tell that old wart from the eastern clan to keep his men to himself while he's gone, or I'll return the favour tenfold." Hopefully that would keep him out of trouble while they were gone. Wait, she didn't know where they were going yet. "Pack for a long trip. Bring my whole retinue." Not the worthless ones who insisted on following him around, the elite ones hand-picked and answering to him alone.

He also wanted to go over the modifications to his ship one more time, "Send for the carpenter." Hmm, his control wasn't the best right now, but he wanted to leave as soon as possible. Best to avoid temptation. "Here, take this." He held out his axe, hesitated, then remembered not to point it at her as he offered it. It was progress! He should celebrate. Too bad he didn't drink. Maybe Vella would want to instead. "Want some ale?"

* * *

Astrid eyed the dragon warily, grateful that Stormfly was nearby; not that she didn't think she could take the Fury, despite what she'd said to Snotlout, but the Nadder's presence was comforting. At least Toothy didn't look and sound like he was about to murder anyone anymore, but there was something about his expression that spoke of a deep fury, and much of that was directed at her right now. She had to trick herself into thinking it didn't make her uneasy.

"So?" she asked levelly, addressing both Furies as she deliberately folded her arms. "Let's hear it."

Hiccup said something she only understood half of, and she watched him patiently while Fishlegs translated. "He requests I–"

"Word for word, Fishlegs," she reminded him without looking away.

"…Sorry. 'Fishlegs should explain. It would take too long in my language.'"

That tied up to the parts she had caught, though he was still paraphrasing a little, and she'd been more or less expecting it; they'd had days to prepare. She nodded to him.

"Okay. There are certain things that can be… assumed. Nobody's ever seen a Night Fury in three hundred years, and now we've seen three. They're clearly connected." Astrid nodded in agreement. "Right. And we know about the first one because of… Hiccup Haddock. With me so far?" She nodded again. "Okay, so when you put those two together…" He held his palms up suggestively.

"…You knew Hiccup?" she asked the Furies. They both chuffed tersely, though she'd asked in Norse. While that was surprising, both the fact and the understanding, "What does that have to do with attacking Snotlout?"

"_I lick his hurts,_" Toothy said with a crackling growl, Fishlegs meekly translating and filling in the gaps in her understanding. _"Many hurts. I had wrong thinking, that he fight._" He closed his eyes and let out a tense sigh. "_But he never want fight. You tell me, if he not fight, he hurt why?_"

"This isn't about me," she shot back to keep control of the… she supposed it was a trial, of sorts. "This is about you, and you attacking Snotlout. You can't just attack him for something he did to someone else."

Toothy kept watching her while Fishlegs translated, however that worked with the visual words, then huffed. _"I have more reason than that rock-head had. Tell me why._"

_"You ask him, he tell you,_" she growled back directly. "This is still about you, and that isn't a good enough reason."

He looked at her incredulously. _"If you not can see what you do, how hurt-sad you make him, I not can explain_."

"I think something's lost in translation here, Fishlegs, help me out." Sure, Snotlout was a jerk, but she couldn't see why being a jerk to a dead kid was reason to try to claw his guts out.

"Uhh… No, not really? You really don't get it, do you? No, of course you wouldn't. You're _Astrid_." He scoffed. "You've probably never felt helpless in your–"

He was cut off by Hiccup crooning over the top of him, and he visibly restrained himself. "…Sorry." He said that to Hiccup, not to her, and she was tempted to snap at him that she _had_ been helpless before. Twice! "Let's just say that when you beat the snot out of someone, when they won't or can't fight back, it does bad things to them."

She didn't like how they were both implying her involvement. "Let's get something straight here, I'm the one who risked my honour and axe to get you off easy. I get it, you're mad at Snotlout, but maybe try to talk it out next time instead of trying to kill him?"

Toothy laughed humourlessly as Fishlegs translated. "_That not what you do._" Before she could object, he held up a paw as if he were holding a torch or something, which he dropped and 'watched' fall to the ground. Then he stamped on the rock, which strangely elicited a bark and some fussing over him from Hiccup.

What was _that_ supposed to mean? She glared at Fishlegs, but he shook his head in confusion.

"_Before you fly with him,_" Toothy said while he blankly watched Hiccup lick his paw.

What about it? She'd _kissed_ him after that. So what if she'd… thrown him to the ground, literally walked over him… threw him to the ground _again_, kicked him… _and_ dropped her axe on him… But she only did that when he deserved it!

_Hypocrite_

She slumped. He'd 'deserved' it a _lot_. And Snotlout needed even less of a reason…

"_Thank you for saving us,_" Hiccup chirped, breaking her out of her thoughts. "_We like here. New den good. Playing good. Much food. But bad happen here, we know. But we fly forward._" He nosed his brother. "_You also._" Toothy didn't look so sure, but didn't disagree.

Astrid sighed. She still didn't really get it, but nor could she argue. She was just as guilty as Toothy, and by Snotlout's own logic Toothy had every right to maim him. She made a note to keep an eye out for this sort of thing in future, these attitudes weren't healthy. "Alright. Come on girl, I need some air," she said to Stormfly, then climbed into the saddle and left these tumultuous thoughts on the ground.

* * *

Hindlegs brushing his sagging belly, Dreamer trudged out of the Great Hall and down the village. The quiet night was a stark relief after the noise and stuffiness of the feast, and the air was cool and crisp as winter began threatening to take hold.

He looked up at the sky-sparks in the otherwise empty sky, confirming that dawn was not far off. _That_ moment was approaching. He knew where his paws were taking him, if not why, or how he'd suddenly known.

Before he knew it he was perched on the clifftop, staring at the sky past the catapult that had been rebuilt at some point.

He wondered what Wanderer did at this time, if anything. Did he fly to where he had crash landed and spent half the day immobilised by ropes? Probably not, he was a pragmatic person, most of the time, and though he'd winced at the part of the story where he'd been shot down – this skald had been more animated than the last – he'd seemed quite happy with it all.

Dreamer should feel happy too. He _did_ feel happy, and wouldn't take any of it back… but he just couldn't bring himself to celebrate shooting his only real friend out of the sky; permanently, in one way of thinking.

His damaged tail fins found themselves tucked in behind his forelegs. He had an inkling of what that was like now, being grounded, though his case had been and still was much less severe.

Wanderer was his friend only because Dreamer had shot him down and inflicted that terrible injury. That seemed so very, very wrong, even if he was the only one who wasn't completely fine with it. He was mostly fine with it, as it had broken Wanderer from the queen's control and led to the end of the war, but that didn't make the deed any less horrific.

Footsteps approached behind him, and he turned to croon at–… not Stoick, this time, but Astrid.

"Hiccup?" She asked, and he chuffed a reply. "…So you know about this bit too, huh," she said sombrely. He nearly chuffed again, but remembered at the last moment he wasn't supposed to understand, and they sat in silence.

"We did give him a hard time," She said after a while. "More than we should have. It's not an easy life, being a Viking, but he didn't seem to get that. It didn't help that he made it a lot harder for everyone around him too, with all his… weirdness." A hand groped at his wing and back in the dark, and eventually settled on his head.

What was it about this night that sorely tempted him? She didn't need to make excuses for herself, she just needed to pick herself up and move on. Getting bogged down in the past never helped anyone, he knew that from experience, but he still couldn't say anything. Couldn't do anything more than watch.

Hrrr, she was tough, and would get over it eventually. It was just frustrating. Why couldn't he just be open about everything? Why couldn't everyone? All these stupid wars, the senseless killing and pain, all because people failed to see beyond their own noses.

Could he have fixed that, had he remained human? He could have tried at least. Now… he wasn't sure what he could do. On one paw, he was living proof that dragons weren't mindless beasts, and he could work from there. On the other paw, he almost needed to break that first preconception before he could even start.

These thoughts were getting him nowhere, he growled at himself and the hand quickly withdrew from his head. Heh, if all else failed he could just kidnap the Chiefs like he and Toothless had done to Astrid. Talk to them in their language, so to speak.

The light of the sky-fire was gradually becoming noticeable. By this point, two years ago, he was being paraded back to his house by Gobber. As if it was his fault the brazier had been burned down and rolled down the village. He huffed, his fatigue starting to catch up to him. Time to return to his den to sleep the day away with what seemed to be the only sensible person in this crazy world. Dreamer padded forward and dropped from the cliff without a sound, leaving Astrid alone on the grass.

* * *

It was a strange and curious thing of metal, like bones but on the outside. Wanderer nosed at it, sniffing and sifting through the strange scents on its various joins, and the fin within it twitched as he brushed the sensitive tip.

More incomprehensible Long-Paw logic, there was no way Dreamer could fly with this thing on his tail – he could barely even lift it from the ground – but it was Dreamer who had thought of it, so it was guaranteed to work. Somehow. Wanderer didn't need to understand it.

Storm-Fly and the other flying-nest-kin had flown to the egg-nest a pawful of days ago, so the young Long-Paws were downcast. Before the previous cold-season they had played much with the Nightstrikers, but Wanderer was still angry with them. Much more at one of them, but the others too. And he was a little resentful that the problem was being left with him to fix, though he would do so gladly. Things were just awkward and tense all around.

Except with Fish-Legs. It was weird, everything had flipped mid-flight and now he was the casual and comfortable one while everyone else was tense. At least Wanderer understood a bit more of what Dreamer saw in him now.

Wrrr, just a flight of boring and lazy days, then all would be well. He and Dreamer would get big in the warming-season, and they would be able to survive on their own. If they needed to. Some of it did come down to this metal around Dreamer's tail.

He gave the metal thing another sniff, and licked it for no real reason. _Mmrrr_, it was tasty… Something of a sharp, tangy flavour that burned the back of his nose, in a good way. He got a few more licks in before Dreamer snatched it away and batted him on the head.

"Not lick that!" he scolded, then inspected the thing carefully.

"But taste good," Wanderer whined, creeping forward to be fended off with more bats to the head. _Huff_. "You lick."

"No," Dreamer huffed, then hesitated. Wanderer could just _see_ the curiosity and temptation on him, and warbled _dare, encouragement_. "…No," Dreamer repeated, and gave himself a shake. "This let me fly again. Not touch," he growled. "It… smell maybe-good, yes, but not touch. Flying better. Wait. I stupid, I just get more." Wanderer bounced happily, eager for a new toy, as Dreamer opened the den-mouth – and jumped back as a lump of ice the size of his paw smashed into the rock outside. "…I get more later."

_Sympathy, amusement,_ Dreamer's sire hummed as he walked over to peer outside, then closed the den-mouth. The den was much colder now, with all the cold air that had blown in. Wanderer shivered, then spun and bounded to the fire to dive into it. He whined as he was grabbed from the air, claw-lengths from the flames. _Relief, amusement, warning_, the big Long-Paw rumbled.

"He say not roll in fire," Dreamer translated, batting him on the head _again_; he was pushing it now. Wanderer growled back at him as the Long-Paw sat down and lay him in his lap, but then groaned and purred as a paw began kneading his back and sides.

He cracked an eye when the den-mouth opened and a frazzled Fish-Legs stumbled in. Wanderer warbled a distracted greeting as he bemoaned at the cold air again, but the fire and Long-Paw body-warmth soon swept away the chill.

Fish-Legs began chattering to Dreamer's sire, occasionally saying _curious, excitement,_ to the Nightstrikers, though of course Wanderer was the only one to not understand. The sounds were familiar now, but still repetitive and incoherent. "What he saying?" he asked Dreamer, then flexed and whimpered as the paw found an ache under his wing-shoulder.

"He say where we nest for cold-season," Dreamer said as he tried to nose his way into the attention, but Wanderer fended him off. They had nothing but time, and this was his turn. "Hrr, but not with rock-head." Good.

Nothing but time… Hrrr… He lifted his head to ask Fish-Legs for something, but then the kneading stopped. He swung up to huff at Dreamer's sire, who chuckled and resumed his ministrations. Nnggg, that was better. He would ask later.

* * *

"How your tail?"

Dreamer didn't look up, just warbled absently at Wanderer and continued fiddling with the apparatus. "Not know. I think it working. It feel good now." Gobber had improved on his design – now _that_ was a thought – and used a pin instead of a weld for the tempered iron lengths, so that he could manually open and close the fins to stretch them. A lot more awkward to get on, but then that was something that was only needed once. "I hurt everywhere, but not tail, why?"

"That normal, I think. Growing." He purred. "Much food in this nest. We grow big, strong."

Stronger than most Vikings… On top of that, Toothless could have looked his dad in the eye, and they would both grow at _least_ that big by the sound of it. _So weird_.

Either way, he'd have Midgard's strongest tail by the time winter ended. Dragging the iron apparatus around was exhausting, not for its weight but because it was at the end of his tail which made it heavier, and it kept catching on floorboards and corners. There were so many reasons he couldn't wait to be rid of it.

"We go to fledgling female's den this light?" Wanderer asked grumpily. That was still a thing, apparently. Dreamer could understand his fury at Snotlout, now that he knew the regular run-ins with him had apparently set in some kind of bad conditioning, but what was his problem with Astrid? She hadn't been all that bad, not compared to some of the others.

He sighed. Everyone would come around, eventually.

Fishlegs finished packing everything up and started pulling on furs. While he waited, Dreamer padded over to the one little child in this residence, a little girl of two or three years, and gave her a friendly sniff and lick and purred at her giggles. He would never grow tired of making people happy just by being himself. Then some of the older kids moved in to scratch or stroke him, and he had to manoeuvre around so as to not let them crowd him.

"_Time to get going_," Fishlegs said, voice muffled by the furs, and beckoned to his back. The Nightstrikers stared at him expectantly. "_Oh come on guys, you know we're out, you should have asked to be taught earlier. You'll just have to wait until next time._"

"You know also," Dreamer countered, and Wanderer chuffed his approval. "You just not want walk through cold."

He groaned. "_Fine, you got me. Tell you what, you two furnaces come with me and we'll go now._"

Wanderer shrugged. "We come, you give us two."

"_You can have as many as you want, as long as you carry them,_" Fishlegs said with a sly undertone. Dreamer hummed thoughtfully as they climbed on.

The trek outside was _freezing_, even through the thick furs wrapped around them all, and the Nightstrikers couldn't see at all. It made for a long and miserable journey, with no way of knowing how far away they were. Eventually, the unrelenting pressure lifted from his back and the howling of the wind became a bit more distant, indicating they were in a small structure.

The belt sealing them in was loosened, allowing Dreamer and Wanderer to slip out. _Grah_, even the dirt floor was frozen! But with little airflow, scales were enough to ward off the cold.

Fishlegs rummaged and pulled out a dried fish to toss over – but didn't let go of it. They grumbled at him as they dropped back to the cold ground. "Y_ou guys don't really want to be catching these,_" the teen laughed, and slapped it against a crate. Of course, it was frozen solid and hard as rock. "_Still wanna carry it?_"

Dreamer approached and took it off him; as long as he held it in his teeth, it wasn't too bad. Just as long as he didn't–… Yep, now his tongue was stuck to it.

The trek to the Hofferson residence was just as bad as to the storehouse, and it was a relief when smoky, stale and smelly air wafted in under the furs. He wriggled forward to poke his head out, taking in the lethargic faces that were beginning to rise at the prospect of something to do. Dreamer understood that all too well, winter for him had been a time to get a _lot_ of designing done, but very little could be made without a forge.

Hrrr, but Astrid wasn't here. She must be still upset with them; that was going to make this stay awkward.

The overcoat was removed to allow them to drop down, and of course Wanderer cheerfully bounded right ahead and dove into the fire, completely ignoring the cries of alarm. He knew as long as he was in there, nobody would try to pull him out.

Dreamer sighed and padded over, dropping his fish next to Wanderer's near the pit to thaw, then swatted at him. Wanderer grabbed his leg in his teeth and tried to pull him in with him. _Oh no you don't_, a wrestle in the fire was just asking for trouble, Dreamer growled and dug his heels in until he was released. Mmrrr, the warmth was _very_ nice though, even with Wanderer laying over most of it. After casually picking up the errant embers and returning them to the firepit, he stretched out next to it and purred as it ate away at the lingering chill.

After the dried fish had defrosted and been consumed, he went ahead and sought out Astrid. There weren't many places she could be hiding, and sure enough he found her sat on her bed.

She looked a wreck. Her glazed eyes stared forward, glistening with a light dampness, and she slumped with a deep lethargy that even seemed to pull at her face. Had she been this bad at the anniversary? He hadn't actually seen her face.

Dreamer warbled _concern_ and hopped onto the bed, accidentally knocking his tail against the floor with a hard sound of metal on wood that stirred her from her daze. "_…Hey Hiccup._" She huffed a bitter laugh. "_Hiccup… To think, that we would give you his name without a second thought. Not that I ever gave him a second thought, before… Gods, how could I even face him now._" She laughed again, a little more genuine. "_What should I care? He's in Valhalla. No amount of suffering would keep him away after going out like that._"

Astrid looked at him for the first time since he'd entered. "_So why won't it stop haunting me? Not that you understand a word I'm saying anyway…_" She pulled him onto her lap, and he shivered as her fingers absently ran between his frills. What would he even say to this? He was glad she wouldn't need to face him, and he her. That just sounded like a whole tangle of awkward.

Apparently having followed, Wanderer hopped up onto the bed as well, though he remained out of reach. "You understand," he said. There wasn't much of a question in his tone, but Astrid nodded. "Good. You should feel bad, for what you did." He huffed, and she sagged further.

Wanderer looked at her thoughtfully, then at Dreamer, and tilted his nose at Astrid. Dreamer cocked his head in confusion. "Tell her?" Wanderer hummed quietly, maybe too quiet for human ears. His tone was mostly spiteful, knowing she would need to face what she had done, and if Dreamer hadn't told her on that cliff then he never would, but he tried to imagine how it would play out anyway.

There was his optimistic side suggesting a heartfelt reunion, followed by her apologising and treating him like a respectable person… which didn't thrill him all that much, honestly. It would be awkward for both of them, as it had been with Fishlegs. His pessimistic side envisaged an arduous battle to get her to believe, then her only seeing magic regardless of what he did or said. That was far worse, Vikings had a deep fear of anything they couldn't swing an axe at.

"That Long-Paw dead," Dreamer eventually warbled. "He not care now. No thing you can do for him. We angry because he our friend, we feel his sad. You want make things good with him? With us? He not here now, but you here. Show us you can be good. That you better than you were." There, everything he had wanted to tell her without betraying his identity.

"_Alright… I–_" she started, but cut herself off. "Yes. I think I understand," she said in Dragonese instead. "Sorry." She'd been saying it unintentionally a few times, but this time she meant it.

Dreamer purred and nuzzled her. He'd much rather just forget about it all anyway, it was really only Wanderer who was angry. He had an idea to cheer them both up, and shook his head free off the fingers to tackle Wanderer, and they tumbled off the end of the bed with a bark of surprise.

Predictably, it was hard to resist watching a pair of small Nightstrikers wrestling and rolling on the floor, and Astrid was a sucker for the cute routine. It didn't completely snap her out of it, but her face looked softer in the few glimpses Dreamer got of her.

Well, as long as they were play-fighting… Dreamer gave a more threatening growl with a slight nod. He was determined, and fought off the rotten instincts to cower and surrender at the dangerous snarls, narrowed eyes, and bared teeth. They fought more slowly and deliberately, Dreamer fighting himself as much as his opponent, until he could take no more. He turned away, panting heavily and trying not to curl up on the floor, though he couldn't stop trembling.

Wanderer refused to 'win' like this, but he tackled Dreamer and just hugged him close with gentle purrs. A good way to lose, the comforting was greatly appreciated, and it helped mask his unease; not that it was a risk, his time on Berserk was the perfect cover, but it wasn't something he much wanted others to see.

Speaking of, Dreamer realised they had gathered something of an audience, several kids he recognised from last winter all watching with a sort of revered awe. He could actually see their hands twitching in anticipation, and huffed a laugh. He could hardly fault them for wanting to touch a dragon, and he didn't mind; a distraction would be welcome. He gave Wanderer a grateful lick and pulled himself to his paws.

Seeking out the youngest first, he hopped up onto the bed she knelt on, and she gasped as he padded around her and over her lap with a purr. From there he made his way around, hopping over beds and winding between the kids as they stroked and scratched him.

Wanderer wasn't one to be left out, and they were quickly getting to everyone, but a splitting wailing sound started and multiplied from downstairs at which point some of the older kids were called away and left with bitter grumbles. Babies? Dreamer continued his rounds until the audial assault ceased, then trotted over to the hatch and awkwardly down the steep stairs.

Conflicted _annoyed, resigned, comforting_ sounds and hushing was coming from the closed back room, but the tense gaze pricking at the back of his neck gave him the impression he wasn't welcome back there. He was fine with that, he had no more interest in them than last year. There seemed to be quite a few more this winter though. Wrrr, Berk was doing quite well for itself, and they _did_ need to replenish the losses suffered at the hands of the Berserkers.

He shook his head and turned – then almost fell on his face as his body didn't respond properly, stiff and aching as it had been lately. The fight had loosened him up a bit, but it was setting back in. Just normal growing pains, apparently, but he felt he was wearing a shirt that was fitted too closely, just a bit too small. It was even more stifling than being stuck inside all the time.

After stretching – with a grimace at his creaking joints – he went to go back upstairs, but a man staring into the fire piqued his curiosity. Dreamer quietly approached and sniffed his leg, scenting a strong connection to Astrid. Probably her father, though if it was, he looked a lot older now. Hrrr, though he hadn't been one to play with the Nightstrikers last year, and Dreamer had rarely seen him before as Hiccup, so it had been a long time.

Dreamer shrugged and padded back towards the stairs, but a gentle clicking sound pricked his ears. He turned back to find the man watching him hopefully, holding out a hand and rubbing his fingers together.

His frills perked and he approached placidly to nuzzle the hand, purring as it stroked his head and neck. He soon found himself draped over the man's lap with curious fingers tracing his wings and sometimes some of the scars he'd accrued on Berserk.

It was hard to tell what he was purring at more; the warmth from the fire, the gentle and pleasant attention, or that he had cured someone else of their hatred and distrust.

* * *

"_Keep still ya silly lizard, ah did no make this tae come off easily._"

Dreamer tried and failed to still his wriggling tail, crooning _impatience, excitement_, with his wings twitching restlessly. Wanderer was nearby, bouncing and bounding his own excitement.

"_Here, let me help_," Fishlegs offered as he stepped over to lean heavily on the tail. Dreamer blinked, momentarily forgetting his excitement – had Fishlegs shrunk? No, of course not, that was silly, Dreamer had simply grown. How hadn't he noticed? He'd spent enough time with the teen this winter.

His hesitation was enough that Gobber managed to get a grip on the small wingnut and spin it loose, and paradoxically Dreamer _did_ go still as he felt the clamps loosen.

"_…There! Ya–_"

Dreamer rocketed from the bench of the forge and tumbled into the snow, chirping happily at how light he felt, and sort of naked in a strange but exhilarating way. He kept flipping himself over, expecting more weight on his tail and to need more strength to move it, but he didn't care.

He darted at Wanderer, intending to pounce him, but his head caught up with him and he skidded to a halt in the white powder. He almost didn't dare look; even if he was truly grounded it wasn't a lifetime sentence, but he'd only just started really growing and didn't want to need to start over again.

The hesitation only lasted a few moments, and he whipped his tail around in front of him and fanned the fins.

His first impression was that it had failed – he could still see the kinks in the fingers. But then his heart rose and soared as he stretched them out, and the membrane between them pulled taught.

Wanderer squeaked happily and tackled him to lick his face, then jumped off and stood tensely in the courtyard with his wings stretched out, waiting impatiently. Just for a moment, Dreamer appreciated how big _he_ was too, bigger than any wolf. But there was too much going on, too much to do, so it was only a moment.

He spun and leapt back into the forge and onto Gobber, staggering him and ignoring the protests as he licked his face.

And then his impatience caught up with him again. He leapt off Gobber, bounded off the counter, and screamed into the sky with a thundering roar.


	21. Acceptance

**_Author's Notes:_**

_Hnnnggg, I didn't expect to need to take three weeks, and hopefully this will be the only case I do. Work is to blame, I'm beat, but have a ton of holiday booked including all of next week to recharge._

_Just in case anyone missed it, as of last chapter all non-native language is in italics; Dragons hear Norse in italics, and Vikings talk and hear Dragonese in italics. Garbling words was a fun trick, and allowed me some interesting tools to show the attitude of the speaker (as well as skip over a lot of irrelevant dialogue) but it was a pain to do on any larger scale._

* * *

There was no warmth in the sunlight that shone weakly through the hazy sky, certainly none that could be felt over the bite of the wind. The worst of winter was over, but snow and ice were almost permanent features at this altitude within the Archipelago.

The figures wading through the thick white powder were not the type to complain though, and their inexorable progress would have impressed any Viking, were any others around to see. The isolation was not a strange thing, even given the rich iron deposits over and within the mountain, the clique had passed through the burned-out remnants of several attempts to colonise and mine.

Personally, Dagur didn't understand the problem, but he had no interest in a boring old mine. It was much easier and more efficient to take iron that had already been extracted and refined. He was here for something else entirely, something he'd been tracking for months. He'd returned empty-handed from his last foray into the dark corners of the Archipelago, just as all his others, but it hadn't been entirely fruitless.

"We set up camp here!" he shouted his arbitrary decision as he lifted the big pack from his shoulder. They could always move, but it felt right with the elevation and surrounding landscape, and he had learned long ago to rely on his gut feelings. He would certainly need them in this hunt, one that nobody had dared for hundreds of years and that even the Berserkers themselves had all but forgotten. Only the barest records remained and omitted many important details. But that just made it more of a challenge, and would only heighten the accomplishment.

Regardless, he had a lead on his quarry. That was all he needed now.

* * *

Hadn't there been some sort of promise this year it wouldn't be as bad? This was agony! Dreamer hissed as an excruciating itch crept down his side, feeling like he'd been cut open, then whimpered in relief as it was attacked by claws and teeth. _How paradoxical_, he thought faintly, but then he felt Wanderer twitch under his paws and quickly located and clawed at the offending hide on his lower back.

One of Dreamer's claws caught on a seam, and he reached forward to bite at it. It sent them both rolling head over tail, but that was a common occurrence right now, and the light scraping against the stone was actually helping a little. Until they hit the wall of their den, anyway, and his head ended up at the bottom of the pile.

He grunted and threw Wanderer off, then pounced and resumed tearing at the fissure. It took him a minute, but he got a grip with his fangs to tug off the faded old leather, then licked at the dark and raw hide underneath. _Lucky_…

A few minutes later he felt a tugging on his side, under his wing, and whimpered as another piece of his own hide was pulled away. The experience could not quite be called pleasant, especially as the new hide was raw and sensitive compared to the dead and unfeeling outer layer, but it was a huge relief.

Dreamer reached to claw at another itch, finding with surprise that his shoulder felt a lot looser now. He actually overreached, expecting resistance that he'd been subconsciously accounting for and that was no longer there. This was weird.

Okay, he had to admit he was more lucid than he'd been last year, he wouldn't have thought twice about anything then. That didn't make this any easier to bear!

He didn't really know why they were hidden away up here in their den, away from any other form of help. The brushes may not have targeted the itches as effectively, but they'd covered a broader area and kept the itching at bay for longer, so it was an easy trade-off. They might be less effective this year with how they had grown, but that wasn't it.

The torture hit a lull and they both slumped in the tangled pile they'd ended up in, panting through weary purrs. Dreamer's hide still prickled uncomfortably in places, but it was much fainter and easy to ignore for now. His addled mind drifted, thinking distantly on the brushes but finding no desire for them. The shedding had simply started one morning, and they'd not even considered getting help.

It _was_ that he didn't want anyone else around while he was in this state, but not because he was shy or embarrassed. He had trouble putting his claw on it. For some reason his thoughts kept drifting back to Berserk, as if that was anything to do with it.

He felt himself drifting off and succumbed to it, sinking into a shallow slumber…

_Dagur, striding forward with a short blade in each hand. Dreamer lunged at him, knowing he had to fight him off, but his attacks were weak and ineffectual. Dagur laughed as he toyed with him, inflicting light cuts everywhere and not even bothering to block or evade. Dreamer simply didn't have the strength to hurt him._

_Dagur was suddenly Snotlout, jeering and shoving him. Dreamer shook himself, some sense of awareness sinking in, with it coming a realisation that he didn't need to fight. Snotlout could be ignored, wasn't worth it, not unless–_

_He stared in horror as the thought immediately became reality, the now faceless figure kicking Wanderer to the ground and standing on his head. NO! Dreamer leapt forward, but it was like trying to move through honey, and something kept pushing him away. He wasn't strong enough, wasn't strong enough…!_

_"What are you going to do about it?" Snotlout sneered, "Your turn," Dagur growled a moment later, the faces twisting into each other, either and both at the same time._

_Dreamer spun and nearly ran into Astrid. She looked down coldly as she held her axe over him, the blade dripping with green poison. "Useless," she muttered, and then it was falling–_

Suddenly able to move, Dreamer scrabbled back out of the way and tripped over himself. She'd got him, he could feel the cut down his neck, he just had to–!

"Safe! Safe!" Wanderer crooned loudly and reassuringly, then nuzzled Dreamer with a _comforting, worried_ hum until his panic subsided.

_A dream, just a dream_… Dreamer nuzzled into his friend's shoulder and forced himself to take slow and measured breaths. "I sorry," he whined, fighting down whimpers.

"You not do this," Wanderer hummed with a sympathetic nuzzle. "…Someone else do this," he growled quietly a moment later.

"Hating them not help this," Dreamer reminded him automatically. "We better than that."

_Huff_. "Maybe I not want be better than that," but his tone wasn't serious. "We should eat."

_…Yes, while we can_, Dreamer thought to himself as he blinked himself awake, becoming aware that the many cuts from his dream were just his agitated hide. Come to think of it, they'd not eaten in almost a full day, as the light of dawn was starting to make itself known and highlighting the many scales and scraps of leather littering their den; if it didn't smell of them before, it would now.

They hopped out into the air, Dreamer a little ungainly as he was still building up his strength after Berserk and winter, and because he was lopsided; his right wing-shoulder felt cramped and stifling, while his left shoulder was loose and baggy. Thankfully, that would only last a few nights. It was some consolation that Wanderer was a bit wobbly too.

Unfortunately there were no boats bringing in their haul at this hour, the early risers were still out at sea, but he didn't want to go to the Great Hall, not like this. He growled in impatience; whatever they were doing, they needed to do it quickly. How did Nightstrikers normally handle this? Hunting with this terrible itching would be very difficult.

One of the many scattered storehouses caught his eye; in a village that burned down regularly, it was never a good idea to keep everything in one place. He'd never been given permission to take supplies, but then he hadn't been told not to either…

He rolled and sent himself hurtling at the ground, snapping out his wings at the last moment for a hard but satisfying landing. Wanderer thudded down next to him a moment later.

Dreamer glanced around, though he really shouldn't feel guilty about this, then reared up to flip the latch and ducked inside the dark room.

It was difficult to think in his haste, and he couldn't remember the priorities of which foods to eat. Was it the brined or smoked fish first? Or the fresh fish, because then they didn't need to spend time and energy preserving it? Fresh was probably better. They were in the crates, one of which he pulled out from under a shelf and pawed through the snow it contained to find a variety of fish. Perfect.

He awkwardly dragged the crate between them so they could both reach – Wanderer already had his nose in a barrel – and they gorged on the contents; at first he was careful to remove them with his paws so as to not disturb the others, but when it became clear the whole box was going he stopped bothering. The itching was getting worse, so he was in a hurry.

At least he took the time to roughly shove the empty crate with the others, and shut the door behind them. He resisted scratching at anything, he knew if he started then he wouldn't stop, and the village was too open and exposed.

Hunger sated, they powered into the air and over the docks, then crashed into their den in a growling tangle of claws and teeth.

* * *

"Has anyone seen the Furies?" Fishlegs asked the others as they all walked the bridge to the main island in the early light.

"Meant to talk to you about that," Astrid said as she slowed to walk next to him, "apparently they raided a storehouse yesterday. Not a big thing, but we should establish some rules."

"Huh, strange. They normally go to the docks or the Great Hall. Sure, we can go over that. But where are they?"

"They're probably shedding" Tuffnut interjected. "Explains the dragon raid, heh, they'd be in a hurry to eat."

"That's not due for weeks," Fishlegs replied matter-of-factly. "That was well after Johann was here last year."

"Au contraire, my knowledgeable but observationally challenged friend," Tuffnut said as he draped an arm over Fishlegs' shoulder, "they've been scratching like crazy for the last week."

Fishlegs shrugged him off. "Alright then, if you're so clever, explain why they're hiding away instead of begging for help like last year."

Tuffnut grinned, then stood in front of Snotlout, halting the group. "Allow me to demonstrate. Snotlout, close your eyes." Snotlout eyed him suspiciously, but did as asked. "Great, now open them." He watched everyone for a few moments. This is last year, you with me?" Everyone, including Snotlout, stared at him in confusion, but he took no notice. "Now close your eyes again." As soon as he did, Tuffnut socked him in the jaw, then doubled over with a wheeze when Snotlout retaliated with a punch to the gut.

"What'd you do that for!?" Snotlout snapped at him.

"Making a point," Tuffnut gasped, then took a few moments to catch his breath. "Close your eyes again."

"Hel no!"

Tuffnut, still doubled over, grinned at Fishlegs. "This is this year. Make sense?"

Fishlegs blinked. "Uhhh…" Astrid and Ruffnut looked just as blank, and Snotlout shouldered through to continue along the path. "No. That made less sense than Gobber on the fourth day of Snoggletog."

"Come on!" Tuffnut groaned. "It's obvious! Whatever, just leave 'em alone." He trudged after Snotlout, holding an arm to his stomach.

"…You see what I have to deal with?" Ruffnut complained petulantly as they started walking again.

"Maybe you should stop hitting him in the head," Fishlegs suggested, "it can't be doing him any good."

"Maybe you just need to hit him harder, the saying 'knock some sense into him' had to come from somewhere." Of course Astrid would say that.

Ruffnut made exaggerated motions of dragging her arms as she walked. "I swear, he's been even worse since all these babies popped out. The lack of sleep's getting to him, I tell you."

"I hear ya," Astrid said with a yawn. "When it was one or two it was fine, but _five?_"

"And when one cries it sets off all the others," Fishlegs groaned. "I wonder if we can train Terrors to be nannies?"

"Hah, yeah, that's going to happen," Astrid grumbled sarcastically. "You should have seen Uncle Strog, chasing the Furies off whenever they so much as looked at one."

"You should have seen Aunty Kaernut, kept trying to give them one, but they were just like, _nope!"_

That turned into a game of impressions and laughing at things the dragons had done over winter, but at some point Fishlegs fell a few paces behind and lost himself in thought while he watched the girls chat. It was weird to think about now, like Hiccup had always been a dragon, and Fishlegs might have entirely forgotten he'd ever been human were it not for the recent… _issues_ that had come to light.

It was a _miracle_ that had all blown over. Then again, the "scars" Snotlout was _still_ bragging about were barely even visible, he'd hardly been hurt at all. Which was _weird_, given how ridiculously sharp their teeth were.

Would it be insensitive to ask Toothy about that? Maybe he would discretely ask Hiccup. That was more difficult now, with Toothy quickly picking up Norse after Fishlegs had taught him the basics over winter. It seemed to have helped Hiccup's understanding somehow too, something about listening for the right things. Something else to clarify…

Imagine that. He was the first person to teach a dragon, and Toothy was the first dragon to learn Norse. They were so far into uncharted territory Fishlegs didn't even know in which direction lay familiar ground.

They rounded the corner to the training ring, and none of them could help glancing up at the Furies' cave where they probably suffered away. They wanted space? Fishlegs could do that.

Some more notes went down in the book he was holding. He recommended they didn't hole up for too long though, being able to ask questions in Norse opened a whole boatload of possibilities, and his list was getting long…

* * *

Dreamer had never been a particularly proud person. He never really had much to be proud of, to be fair. Not even his inventions, as the only one that had really worked was… well, he wasn't proud of that one.

But he had to admit, he looked _good_. Once the raw leather between his scales had been worn smooth by much rolling around, he practically gleamed. Gone were the multitude of scars accrued on Berserk, and the one on his leg had been replaced by a mottling of larger scales. He felt brand new, and it _might_ have been going to his head a little; he'd caught himself prancing on more than a few occasions.

Though, in stark contrast to over winter, now he felt baggy. He'd literally shed his skin for a bigger one, as if it was a shirt he'd outgrown. Except in this case the old one had gone to the tanner instead of the seamstress.

Would he recognise his own skin if someone else was wearing it? Or, like a recycled shirt, would it just be something he'd passed on, not his anymore?

He dunked his head into his reflection in the pool and guzzled the clear water. Sadly, the cove was underwater with the bulk of the snowmelt, but there were plenty of valleys and rivulets crossing over the island with that same melt from the mountains… From those distant peaks towering above, disappearing into the clouds…

Wanderer warbled longingly, staring up at the sky with him. They hadn't pushed their height yet, as they were still building the strength their wings had lost, but Dreamer knew they weren't even close to clearing the clouds. That was a height still out of reach. But he _needed_ to be up there, a need that was heavy in his belly and bones.

He hadn't even realised he was quietly whining until he felt a nose nuzzle his neck. _Ruddy Nightstriker instincts_… He gave himself a shake, staggering a little as his hide slid around on him, then stretched out his wings and warbled _dare, challenge_. Wanderer flexed his own wings and crooned _curiosity, confidence_.

Rude! Dreamer snorted at him and sprung from the ground, his wings eating through the air in strong, practised motions with Wanderer hot on his tail. They passed through the barrier of calm in no time, and then their larger bodies easily carried them through the more turbulent open sky.

Up, up, higher and higher. They cleared the lowest peak, wings still hungry for altitude.

A giddy but unrealistic hope blossomed that they would actually clear the tallest, but he noticed he was getting less thrust from each stroke. Though they had just passed the second of the three peaks, they'd slowed down considerably and it was taking more energy to keep climbing. There were no thermals here, no updrafts to work with. But they were so close…!

Wanderer barked and prompted him to level off, and he suddenly noticed the strain and fatigue in his wings. He whined sadly at the last peak, so tantalisingly close and yet still so far away. _One day…_ but not today.

And then he looked down. _Woah_. This was easily the highest he'd been on his own wings, and his head spun a little in trying to process just how _far_ below the ground was and how much he could see. Not quite as high as he'd ever been, but not all that far off. It gave him a strange awareness of how he was being held up entirely by the thin limbs protruding from his back.

With resignation, he folded his wings and let his tail pull him into a nosedive, angling himself next to Wanderer as they hugged the sheer face of the mountain. What he couldn't reach in height, he would achieve in speed! He tucked everything in tight, the wind wailing as he cut through it. Not yet the scream it would one day be but–

He was suddenly _very_ aware of _exactly_ how close the rockface was, and he levelled off with a bark of surprise. What… what was that? It was as if he hadn't been aware the mountain was there before!

Wanderer, looking very excited, rose back up to meet him as he coasted on the slightly warmer air. "You see!?" He tilted his head at Dreamer's expression. "What?"

"What _was_ that!?" Dreamer asked shrilly. It had been so sudden, and had him a little shaken.

"Long-Paws not have sound-sight?" he warbled back curiously. "But Long-Paws can hear!"

"Sound-sight!?"

"Hrrr, see things with sound. Make sound, it bounces, you listen. Hear where things are."

Dreamer gaped at him. "See with… _sound?_ But…" He had a rudimentary understanding of light and sound, and how sight and hearing worked, but he couldn't mix the two. Eyes and ears worked in very different ways, that was obvious just by looking at them, but they could _both_ be used to see!? That made no sense!

"Close eyes this time!" Wanderer shouted, then folded his wings to drop like a stone.

Dreamer blinked, then hurried to catch up. Close his eyes? Well, they were quite a way up, and further from the mountain now. He'd be okay for a few moments… He closed his eyes.

It had to have something to do with the sound emanating from his flanks, but it just filled his ears. What was–

And then he _saw_. Not really much, but he was gradually aware of a large surface several body-lengths from his belly, stretching out above and below him into a vague blur. Experimentally, he opened his eyes – the mountain was exactly where he expected it to be, and lined up with what he was 'hearing'. He closed his eyes again and rolled, and the image moved accordingly. He could see without his eyes…

A vague and much smaller shape entered his range, though it felt a bit strange. He opened his eyes to see Wanderer, just slightly off from where his hearing had 'shown' him. Not a perfect sense then, but as an early warning, and to map terrain? No wonder Nightstrikers never missed, they had a view of everything around them while diving.

Speaking of, the ground was beginning to get close; he could 'hear' it, but it was foggy and distant, and he didn't trust this ability with his life anyway. His tired wings protested as he adjusted his dive to swing away from the mountain and the higher flats, travelling at an angle halfway between down and level.

Before long, the village whipped past, the echoes a momentary tangle in his head before being left behind, then they bled their momentum into some aerial fun before coasting down to the islet.

* * *

There was the usual bustling noise at breakfast in the Great Hall, though these days Dreamer wasn't so worried about being stepped on. If he rose to his tallest while still on all fours, he was probably almost as tall as Snotlout. They were growing steadily and showed no signs of slowing down.

They made their way to the food tables at the back, where they each gulped down a fish before making off with a mutton leg. It had been discussed and agreed it was degrading for them to need to wait to be fed all the time, so they could take a reasonable portion from the tables and stores as long as they didn't gorge themselves. Which was a bit silly to Dreamer, because when they did gorge they didn't need to eat for days, but that was what was agreed. There was also the promise that they would help out in whatever way they were able, now or in future, but that was a given as far as Dreamer was concerned.

A small congregation caught his eye, and he noticed Bucket had his easel and paints out and was in an animated discussion with Stoick and Astrid, who kept glancing over at the Nightstrikers. There was too much noise to make anything out though.

Astrid suddenly took off at a brisk jog while Bucket and Stoick continued talking. Something about 'one, but not both' whatever that meant.

Dreamer shrugged and cracked the bone he was chewing to lick out the marrow, and was just finishing up when Astrid returned. He tilted his head at her as she approached him and Wanderer. "You come? Sit… still…" She still stumbled over the words, but she was getting better.

He knew what she was talking about anyway, and could smell the dried fish on her. "Yes, I do," he said with a look at Wanderer that told him all he needed to know; this was a boring Long-Paw thing. "But he can have fish? You give me one after."

_"No hiding anything from you guys, huh,"_ Astrid chuckled, then tossed the treat to Wanderer who snapped it out of the air with a purr, and beckoned Dreamer over towards the easel.

"I fly soon, we meet in den later," Wanderer crooned around his fish.

"Yes," Dreamer shook back as he trotted over to Bucket.

They had him sit with his wings in and looking up at Astrid, Bucket off to his right, and then it was just a matter of waiting. So much waiting. His thoughts drifted around the girl he was looking at, wondering what might have been. Could they have been together, had he remained human? He only wondered out of curiosity, that was a time he had put behind him now.

Nah, she couldn't have ever loved him. She was _Astrid,_ he'd needed to befriend the most feared dragon known to Vikings, then literally sweep her off her feet before she'd as much as looked at him. Such a relationship would have been shallow. Maybe that would have worked for a Viking partnership, but now that he had what he had with Wanderer…

Huh. He wondered what Nightstriker mates were like, if friends were this affectionate to each other. Granted, they were still fledglings, but still. He wondered what the word was for mate, or partner, or wife, or whatever it was Nightstriker couples called each other. It hadn't really come up before.

It took time, and Bucket loudly exclaiming conflicting levels of confidence in himself with the occasional charge into the nearest pillar, but eventually Dreamer was allowed to relax. He tried to nose his way around the easel and the shield resting on it, but Bucket was very protective of his work. _"It'll be shown later,"_ he said anxiously as he herded Dreamer away.

Finally, an opportunity! Dreamer sank low to the ground, and cranked the adorable up to the maximum. He looked up at Bucket with big, dilated eyes, drawing his frills out, and slowly swept his tail around behind him. A piteously curious warble rolled over his tongue as he slowly shuffled forward.

_"He's just a dragon!"_ Astrid whined; she was such a sucker for it, and it wasn't even aimed at her. _"Just let him have a peek!"_

Bucket looked torn, glancing between Dreamer and the shield on the easel. Just one more little push… Dreamer let his eyes and ears droop, crestfallen. _"Ohkay ohkay, he can have a look,"_ the big man finally allowed, and Dreamer perked and bounded happily in a circle while Bucket shuffled out of the way, then around the easel to look at–

He skidded to a halt with his mouth hanging open, feeling like he'd been stabbed in the heart through his gut.

Stoick stood tall in the middle, his left hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the figure of a Viking Chief in full attire. To his left, Astrid stood proudly in her regular gear, though with some creative flair that gave her an aura of magnificence. She stood apart from Stoick, as they were not related.

Dreamer had been painted a bit smaller to Stoick's right, maybe the size he was before winter, looking up at the fourth figure who stood between him and Stoick.

Himself. As a human, with his back turned. Neither hand held a weapon, which was unusual, but one rested on the head of the Nightstriker version of himself. He wore the same dark vest and light long-sleeved tunic he always had, and Stoick's right hand rested on his shoulder. The pain in Stoick's eyes may or may not have been his imagination.

Why was this… But he… How was…

He fled. He didn't understand what was happening, but the why wasn't really important right now. Whatever the reason, it _hurt_.

He swooped into their den, his paws skidding on the stone as he bounded over to crash into Wanderer. _Confused, worry,_ his friend warbled.

"The Long-Paw thing, before I Nightstriker, I not know why, I…" He tripped over everything he tried to say, unable to explain how he was feeling or what had triggered it. "S-stupid words!"

_Safe, comfort_, Wanderer purred, then wrapped him tightly in wings and nuzzled the top of his head. "No words."

Dreamer huddled in silence for a few moments.

And then the clamps on his heart shattered. He no longer cared what anyone thought, no longer had any desire to pretend. He took everything he'd been quietly holding on to and let it all in rapid succession, everything trying to get out all at once and stringing into a wordless, tortured song. For his previous life he keened _failure, regret, disappointment, loss, pain._ His confused identity, a recurring chorus of _uncertain_ warbling and _determined_ growls. His relationship with Stoick came out in _hurt, pained_ yowls that lead into a brief whimper of _fear_ before dropping into _tentative, hopeful, sad, resigned_ croons.

Growls of _resentment, pain_, came out at Fishlegs, but that tailed into a grudging rumble and then a firm but pleasant croon of _happy._ He snarled _hatred_ at the blindness and short-sightedness of the world and _fury_ at their kidnapping, then whimpered _fear, loss, loneliness,_ for the weeks that followed.

What felt like his whole life story came out, and throughout it all the one constant remained – his best friend, the one who cared for him more than any other, more than all the others combined. Wanderer loudly purred _comfort, reassurance,_ through the whole thing, helping string it along and tie it all together. At certain parts he even joined in with his own keens and howls, layering in his own experiences where appropriate.

To tie it all off, Dreamer warbled and grumbled _confusion, scared,_ and finally crooned _relief, acceptance_. He ached, physically and emotionally, but felt a lot lighter, as if a boulder had been removed from his chest. He found himself purring, and strung in a lilt of _gratitude_. Wanderer licked his head in reply.

The shield… what was it about the painting? He thought on it in his weary, semi-detached state, but his thoughts were all over the place.

And yet, wherever his thoughts went, he linked it back there. The painting somehow told his story as much as his song had, albeit unintentionally, tying in the various areas of his life. He had slowly become accepting of who he was, as a Nightstriker, but now he could think back with acceptance on everything that had happened too. He no longer hated who he had been.

He nestled into his safe place, feeling clingy. Wanderer had said that was an effect of these small bodies, strong instincts and undeveloped minds, and Dreamer wondered how that worked; he didn't _feel_ squeezed into a small mind… but then again he did feel like a lot of the gunk in his head had just been squeezed out.

He was looking forward to being mature again, but maybe having the chance to be young and immature every once in a while wasn't such a bad thing…

* * *

Dreamer lay by the warm fire, watching Stoick pace. It wasn't stormy outside, but winter had suddenly decided it wasn't done and came back for another round; it was _cold._ Their den had been very uncomfortable to sleep in, despite being sheltered and deep, even with the advantage of shameless huddling and thick insulated skin. When they had flown over to the Great Hall to warm up, it was over a frozen ocean.

He understood Stoick's concern, it had looked like normal weather right up until everyone had woken up to find their front doors frozen shut, there had been no warning. Johann should be arriving the next day, but if he'd been stuck in the ice he could be in real danger.

Dreamer sighed, then barked to get Stoick's attention and tilted his head at the door. He was a bit warm from the fire, and had recovered from the prolonged racket of hanging around in the Great Hall, so he wasn't totally averse to venturing outside.

_"…Yes, you're right, Will you get Astrid for me?"_

Dreamer nodded and went to the door, allowing Stoick to open it so it could be closed behind him more quickly, and hopped outside. _Gah!_ It was _really_ cold out here! Not particularly windy, but the air bit like a jötunn's breath! Most of the snow was gone but there was a lot of ice everywhere, which at least wasn't a problem to one with claws.

He half-leaped half-glided down the village to Astrid's house and clawed at the door until he was let in, then chirped enquiringly at the woman who had answered. _"Uhh, I'll go get Astrid,"_ she said uncertainly, then called upstairs.

Dreamer considered sitting in the fire to warm up, but there wasn't really much point. It would only make going back outside much worse.

_"Not the friend I was expecting,"_ Astrid mused as she descended the narrow stairs.

"Alpha want talk," Dreamer warbled. "You come?"

She glanced at the door with no small amount of trepidation. Hmph, he'd survived it and he wasn't even wearing anything. She just needed to put on a few layers, which she promptly did.

Once let outside again, he bounded up and down ahead and behind Astrid to keep moving and keep warm. He wasn't really feeling the cold beyond his scales so keeping energetic was all that was needed. _Come on Astrid, the faster you move the warmer you'll be and the sooner you'll get there!_ There wasn't any reason to drag heels.

They got there eventually, Stoick quickly admitting them to his house.

"That look cold," Wanderer warbled mockingly from his position next to the fire. "You _smell_ cold," he added, touching his nose to him when Dreamer approached.

"Yes, but no wind." Dreamer nuzzled his friend, then lay on him with a purr. "Mrrr, you very warm…"

Wanderer wriggled out from under him and batted his head. "No! You cold! Lay in fire if you want warm." He padded away, then ran when Dreamer chased him.

_"Calm down you two,"_ Stoick rumbled with _amusement, joy,_ when they knocked the spit from the firepit and spilled a few coals. Dreamer stopped to stick his tongue out at him, then was tackled as Wanderer continued around and came up behind him.

A few minutes later, the ear that wasn't being chewed picked up Astrid trying to get their attention, and he stood up to address her; the leg in his mouth came with him, which amusingly flipped Wanderer over with a surprised squeak. "You get my Spine-Tail?" she asked a little haltingly in Dragonese.

Dreamer tilted his head at her. "You fly to find Long-Paw?" It was so much easier now he didn't need to pretend he didn't understand Norse. "I come." Astrid and Wanderer stared at him dubiously. "What? I want help you."

"Why," Wanderer groaned, but got to his paws. "I not want go out there…"

"You not need come," Dreamer said with a playful swipe, though he knew it was a pointless offer.

Astrid shook her head. "No… _I should go alone,"_ she said, switching between the two languages.

Dreamer shrugged at her. "If you not worried for flying out there, you not need me for get Storm-Fly."

She glanced between him and the door a few times, then explained the situation to Stoick. _"Unless you're going to tie him up, you might as well accept it,"_ the big man rumbled, though he didn't sound happy about it. _"Though, I would feel better knowing you had someone with you."_

Dreamer let himself out to get Stormfly without waiting for Astrid's response.

It actually wasn't too bad in the air, which was good considering what he had just signed himself up for. Or at least, it wouldn't be too bad once the big wing-muscles wrapped around his chest warmed up. He also confirmed that the ocean was still an expanse of snowy ice, despite having had all day to melt.

Stormfly was in her den, and raised her head and then a wing when he landed in the ring. He gave her a grateful hum, but declined. "Your Long-Paw need you," he chirped, then flew with her back to the village, and soon they were flying through the frigid air out to sea.

* * *

Gods, someone needed to invent some better gear to fly in. Something light, warm, and windproof. Astrid figured she'd need to get two or three people working together for it, which was always difficult, but it would be worth it in the long run. Especially if they kept bringing in more dragons and training more riders.

At least Stormfly's crest broke the worst of the wind, and where Astrid was hunkered down on the dragon's back was warm, but she still had to keep an eye out on the ocean below. The ice just kept going, and no boat could sail through it.

A dark shape caught her eye at around late afternoon, a blotch on the otherwise pristine white surface below. Moments afterwards, the Furies both barked and powered forward, pulling ahead to wheel above it.

"Johann!?" she called loudly before Stormfly touched down on the deck, remembering the eccentric merchant was skittish around dragons. "It's Astrid, from Berk, just checking if you need any help!"

A muffled reply came from below, and she dismounted and cracked open the trapdoor to the hold to peek through it. She didn't blame him for being down there, his cabin would leak warmth every which way.

"Oh Astrid, thank goodness. I must admit, I am in somewhat of a pickle, yes." His voice was dry and rasping, and a little weak. He probably got frozen in overnight, so he'd been here a while. She located him easily at the other end of the hold, wrapped in a blanket next to a lantern that probably wasn't doing all that much to heat anything.

"Alright, we'll have you back to Berk in no time. Come on up."

She could see his scepticism from here. Right, this might be a difficult sell… To make matters worse, one of the Furies was showing interest in the hatch, sniffing around it and making a low crooning sound. It was difficult to tell which, now they'd grown. She had to get used to their sizes all over again. "No, little guy, he's not so good with dragons." Night Furies specifically, but they didn't need to know that.

But Hiccup – she now saw the malformed scales on his leg – nudged her hand away and very pointedly stuck his nose inside and then stared at her. "Okay… Johann, I'm coming down. Try not to freak out, okay?" Maybe he'd had some time to get used to the idea.

Or maybe not. When the Night Fury followed her down, Johann shrunk into his piles of wares with a squeak. "I promise he won't hurt you." She had no idea what he _would_ do, but she was certain it wouldn't be malicious.

They crept close enough that the dragon's black form was clearly visible by the light of the lantern, and she could then see his head twitching in the way it did when they sniffed at something. "What is it?" she asked the dragon.

_"He smell… wrong. Sick."_ The last word wasn't one she knew, but the terse gagging motion was simple to interpret. _"I not think he should fly yet."_

"Great," she muttered, stepping forward to put a hand to Johann's forehead. It was very warm, if not quite feverish. "How do you feel?"

"T-to be p-perfect-ly hon-nest, p-petrified," he stammered in a cracked and rasping voice, holding his blanket up as if to shield himself with it.

"Not that, he says you're sick," she said with a jerk of her head at the Fury, who had backed away to the edge of the light. "This ice hit overnight, were you sleeping in your quarters at the time?"

"Erm… yes. Woke up t-to this frightful chill. N-now that you mention it, I do feel somewhat wan…" The fact that he wasn't comparing it to some long and convoluted tale from his travels was a warning in itself. "You say the dragon said that? Good heavens. I dread to think of the occult practices involved." He squeaked again as the Fury snorted.

"No magic, just knowing what to look for," Astrid assured him. "And yes, he understands Norse too. Some of it, they're still learning. But we're getting side-tracked. I can fly you back on Stormfly, but it's a long and cold flight, and it'll get dark and even colder pretty soon. We should wait until morning, hopefully it'll warm up then."

She let out a breath and watched the thick cloud of mist it created. "We need to get the dragons down here. How do I get these doors open?" She pointed at the big double-doors in the roof of the hold as she set about arranging crates to make room for a Nadder. "Oh don't look at me like that, it's still too cold down here, and I'm not leaving them up there where it's even worse. We can solve both problems at once." He remained quiet, and she sighed. "Would you rather fly back and freeze on the way? Or, I could just go home and check on you in the morning."

"…That handle up there, then they can be opened from outside," he rasped quietly.

She twisted the lock on her way past and continued clearing some room, creating a barrier to the ladder but a space large enough for them all to huddle in, then climbed over the crates and barrels to get out.

Stormfly was huddled on the deck, and Toothy's head worked its way out of her wings when Astrid climbed up, which she couldn't help grinning at. "Hey guys, looks like we're staying here for the night. Come on down, it's a bit warmer down there." She hefted the big doors open, and Stormfly worked her way down by grabbing the edge of the hole in her beak. The Fury dropped down after her, and Astrid closed the doors again and re-entered the hold via the ladder.

"You okay, girl?" she asked soothingly as she approached Stormfly's head and gave it an affectionate stroke. The Nadder looked a bit cramped, but warbled happily and nuzzled her.

"Never thought I'd be a–… one with a live dragon in my hold," Johann stuttered, though his abject fear was subsiding. As she fetched fish from her saddle, Astrid wondered if she was becoming part of a long and convoluted tale herself, and how out of proportion it would be by the time anyone heard it.

With three hot-blooded dragons inside, the hold quickly warmed up to something resembling comfortable, and then to the point Astrid had to shed the thick furs she was wearing if she wanted to keep leaning against Stormfly. Johann fell asleep shortly after, and she quickly followed suit.

* * *

Dreamer felt a little bad, but it was worth not having to listen to Johann prattle off some wild story about Walla Wanari or some other fictitious-sounding place. He levelled out from his dive, the wail that came with it tapering off, and rolled back up level with Astrid. She shot him a grateful smile, though there was a grimace at how Johann was again huddled to her back.

Oh well, they were nearly back home. It was just as cold as the previous day, though there were places the ice had started to crack, so they'd had to abandon the boat and fly back; the anchor was down so most likely it would be exactly where they left it when the ice melted, the only trick would be finding it again. Or, what was left of it if it got crushed.

The last half hour passed in silence, and Dreamer did happy loops and rolls when Berk came into view. The thought of lounging around – or even in – the fire in the Great Hall had him pour on some extra speed, pulling ahead of Stormfly, but something made him slow down. Wanderer's low rumbling said he felt the same way. They wheeled overhead while Stormfly caught up.

There were a few things. It was literally freezing out here, so nobody would want to be outside, but it was weird that _nobody_ was out and especially with how well-trodden the light snow was on the paths. There was also the occasional building with an open door, and a few dark patches that looked more like blood the more Dreamer looked at them.

He descended behind Stormfly and landed warily at the top of the village, at the base of the steps to the Great Hall. He put his nose to the ground, but all the scents were frozen. Astrid had her axe out as she dismounted.

_"I might not have anything to trade, but this is still not quite the welcome I was expecting,"_ Johann said nervously.

The door to the Great Hall was ajar, but no sound came from inside. Dreamer poked his head in and found it was also dark, cold, and empty. He turned and warbled worriedly at Astrid. She could only stare hopelessly down into the village.

Berk was deserted.


	22. Challenge

_**Author's Notes**_

_Just a reminder for anyone using the FanFiction app, PMs don't work. So if you've been using it to reply to me, I'm not ignoring you, I just don't get your messages. The mobile website works fine and isn't difficult to navigate._

_Also if you've been following VigoGrimborne's works you'll know I've been beta reading Usurpation of the Darkness, which I highly recommend you all check out. In fact, just read all of his works if you haven't already, they're all awesome.  
_

* * *

"You know, this reminds me of the time–"

"Johann, this is _not_ the time for one of your stupid stories," Astrid snapped at the merchant, trying to analyse the situation.

No bodies, human or otherwise, so there was a good chance everyone was alive somewhere. That ruled out a raid by another tribe, and the more traditional dragon raids. It had to be some sort of dragon to cause this, something exotic.

But _what_ had happened? Had everyone been taken, or did they flee? She hoped it wasn't the latter; they would only flee something that could not be fought. The whole situation gave her the creeps.

A quiet growl split the silence, quickly followed by a second, and she spun to find the Furies sniffing around. "You smell something?" she asked.

_"Cold hides smells,"_ Hiccup replied with a deep croon, _"but… maybe smell scale-wing-hunter."_ So she'd been right, a dragon attack. She was suddenly glad she'd taken up sparring with Stormfly; if this had happened with Fishlegs present, then diplomacy had failed.

Toothy was nosing his way down into the village, and stared at Stoick's door for a moment before flipping the latch and letting himself in. Astrid followed cautiously, worried she might find Stoick still inside, or what was left of him.

Thankfully it was just as deserted as outside, save for Toothy staring up at the loft. She jumped when he crooned, then raised her axe at a creak from upstairs. "Hello?" she called out tensely.

Something big appeared from the hatch to the loft, then barrelled halfway down the stairs and leaped straight at her. She deftly stepped back to let Fishlegs crash into the floor instead, then winced; that had to hurt.

"Astrid!" he cried out, scrambling to his feet and lunging to hug her. She'd run out of space to retreat to, and could only stand there awkwardly. "Oh thank Thor you're back, it's bad, really bad–"

"Yeah, I got that," she cut him off dryly, forcing the words through the pressure around her torso. "How about letting me go and giving me the short version? Where is everyone?"

He let her go and paced nervously. "They set up camp near the cove with whatever they could carry. We couldn't fight them, they were just too fast–!"

"Couldn't fight _what?"_ she asked in exasperation.

"…Speed Stingers," he replied cryptically, with a glance around as if he'd somehow summoned them by name. She tried to recall them from the Book of Dragons, but it was one of the more obscure species that never made it to Berk and thus were pointless to learn about.

At any rate, this wasn't the place to catch up. "Come on, you can tell me about them on the way out of here," she said as she herded him to the door, but he stood firm.

"I can't leave my Meatlug!"

Astrid pointedly looked around and gestured to the empty house, and he led her outside – where Johann was waiting anxiously and watching Hiccup sniff around – and turned to look up at the roof. There, perched on the ridge-beam, was a very still Meatlug. So still she could have been a statue.

"My goodness, how did we miss _that?"_ Johann mused.

"What–"

"The stingers in their tails cause paralysis," Fishlegs cut her off. "We were waiting for you, but got caught off-guard… Just look at her… So proud and majestic…" Actually, if Astrid was brutally honest, Meatlug was _not_ a pretty dragon, but she wasn't about to disabuse Fishlegs of his fantasy.

"What were you going to do for her holed up in the house?" Astrid asked him. "Come on, you can help her by keeping yourself safe. Is she… stuck like that, or will it wear off?"

"I dunno…"

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Either it does, and she'll come find us, or it doesn't, and there's nothing we can do right now. Come on." She mounted Stormfly and gestured to him while Johann climbed up behind her.

Fishlegs wanted to argue, and made several strained noises, but eventually just slumped with a sigh. "Okay… Come find us when you can, okay girl?" he called up to his dragon.

Stormfly quietly grumbled a complaint at having three passengers, but took a running start to get into the air and whisked them over the forest.

* * *

Dreamer flapped into a landing in the makeshift camp, staring at the rows of immobilised people. He padded over to one and sniffed at an exposed ankle, but didn't pick up anything out of the ordinary. Fishlegs had said paralysis, not poison, but that didn't mean it wouldn't be lethal. He recognised Bucket, Mulch, Sven, and several others from the families they visited over winter, all covered in thick blankets to ward off the cold.

Sound pricked his ears and he turned to see Gothi shuffling warily towards him, clutching her staff. He gave a worried croon at the rows of stiff Vikings, about twenty in all, to put her at ease. She relaxed and gave him a small smile, then waved her hand dismissively at them, seeming to imply there was nothing to worry about. That was a relief.

Their eyes met, and she squinted at him curiously before scurrying forward. He pulled back a little, though he wasn't really threatened by the tiny old woman, and was surprised when she grabbed his chin and stared into his eyes with an unreadable expression. He warbled curiously at her, but she took no heed. After a few moments she turned to the side, staring at the ground and tapping her chin thoughtfully, then hobbled away.

That had been… strange. Wait, did she _know?_ It was said Gothi could see someone's soul through their eyes, so if she could see his…

…Huh. He found he didn't really care. He wasn't the same person he'd been two and a half years ago, but even if she recognised him it felt irrelevant. What was she going to do, change him back? If the Aesir wanted him to be a human, they would have brought it up in the sacred grove. He put it from his mind.

One of the blankets in the rows of stiff Vikings was conspicuously empty, which he trotted around and put his nose to. The scents hadn't yet had time to freeze, and he immediately recognised Snotlout. That made little sense…

Unless… His ears swivelled, searching for… yep. He trotted into the trees, honing in on the mad laughter to find the twins practically wetting themselves with mirth as they took turns humiliating Snotlout, stiff as a board and propped up against a tree.

_"Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself,"_ Tuffnut repeated jovially while slapping Snotlout with his own hand. Nearby, Ruffnut tottered and doubled over, struggling to breathe through her laughter. There was a sort of growling noise coming from Snotlout himself, though he was clearly helpless to do anything more.

_"Wait, wait, I got one,"_ Ruffnut gasped, then had Snotlout make a fist in front of his own face and gave him a nudge. The growling became a little shrill as he fell forwards. A nearby purr signalled Wanderer watching from the shadows as well.

Well, Snotlout was a big boy, he could handle it. Dreamer turned tail and left the twins to their antics.

He wandered the camp, following Astrid's scent. Conditions weren't great, but it was pretty good for a temporary camp. The mood was sombre, mostly due to the regular sounds of infants crying and carers hushing them. It was balanced by the tranquil rushing of water running through the cove, from which Dreamer could hear the hollow ringing of wooden buckets striking stone.

Astrid was at the centre of it all, talking in stressed tones with Fishlegs. Stoick sat nearby on a stump, rigid and unmoving. _Not him too…_ He still held his axe, mid-swing – Dreamer grimaced at the blood on it – and his face was stuck in a determined stare.

Dreamer gave a sad croon and trotted over to nuzzle Stoick's face with a quiet purr, and the man hummed back at him.

_"Yeh should'a seen 'im, took six o' the beasts ter take 'im down,"_ Gobber said proudly as he waddled out of the trees.

"Rr _rr_ rrr, rr rr _rrr rrr,"_ Stoick grunted agitatedly.

_"Right yeh are, Chief!"_ Gobber cheerfully agreed with a clueless frown. _"Anyway, water ain't a problem, bu' we only go' food fer the night. Ah'd say ter go pick up more, bu' ah think if we make i' tha' far it'll be the least of our worries… It's damn cold, an' blankets'll only take us so far. If it so much as snows, we're done for."_ Stoick sighed worriedly at that, and Gobber nodded at Dreamer before heading off again.

That didn't sound good. Dreamer turned his attention to Astrid and Fishlegs, hoping for better news, but the way they were just bouncing short sentences off each other did not inspire confidence. He padded over and warbled an enquiry.

Astrid sighed at him. _"They only come out at night, when it's dark and hard to see, and they're too fast to fight."_

_"In addition to that,"_ Fishlegs said in a downcast hum, _"you only need to be stung once, and they're coordinated."_

"They have alpha, maybe…" Dreamer mused.

_"Yeah, it was hard to tell but it did look like they were all following a bigger one."_

"If they follow alpha, we just need get alpha away," he suggested. "Others follow."

Fishlegs scratched his chin thoughtfully. _"But how? Unless you tie it up and carry it away, but that's still really dangerous. And you'd have the whole pack to deal with while you were doing it."_

And if they just wrapped it up, it was unlikely the pack would follow it. It was cruel, but the best he could come up with was stringing it up by its tail and flying it away, so it would still be able to call out. But what would stop it from just coming back?

"Challenge," Wanderer growled, walking into the conversation. "I can challenge Fast-Paw alpha."

Fishlegs watched him carefully. _"…Wait, by _'challenge'_, do you mean…"_

"It mean I fight him, then tell pack 'leave'."

"That can work?" Dreamer warbled worriedly.

"Maybe," Wanderer growled, then addressed Fishlegs. "Different packs have different ways. Maybe they not accept challenge from Nightstriker. But I can try."

_"But why you?"_ Astrid asked him._ "Stormfly or Hookfang–"_

"–not fast enough," Wanderer finished for her.

"We find Fast-Paws then," Dreamer confirmed, "then fight alpha so he leave. That maybe work."

Wanderer gave a croon of _sad, trepidation,_ but just looked away when Dreamer tilted his head at him.

_"Well, first we have to find them,"_ Astrid sighed. _"Then we can decide what to do. How many riders do we have?"_

Fishlegs counted off on his fingers. _"You, the twins, and two of the Nadder scouts."_ So few!? _"Me too, when Meatlug comes back… Oooh I hope she's okay…"_

_"Ugh, what a time for Spitelout to go off raiding,"_ Astrid groaned.

Right… that would explain it…

_"Come on, we're burning daylight."_ Astrid strode off, presumably to where the dragons were.

"Dreamer," Wanderer warbled quietly, and they fell a little way behind the others. "I not say before because… she not know _us_." Dreamer nodded, his ears going back. Wanderer was a smart dragon to consistently hide their difference in knowledge so well. "Challenge…" He sighed. "Each pack different. Some packs… challenge to death."

Dreamer froze in his tracks. "But not this pack…?" he asked hopefully.

"I not know," Wanderer crooned quietly. "I see some Fast-Paws, but we not talk."

"This too risky!" Dreamer barked.

Wanderer sidled up and nuzzled him affectionately. "I good fighter, not lose. Not worry. I tell you so you know if I need kill Fast-Paw alpha." He hummed thoughtfully. "Then I probably need find new nest for them."

"Yes…" Dreamer crooned sadly. "I try think something else. But if I not can think… try not kill?"

"It not thing I decide," Wanderer sighed. "If pack fights to death, I need kill alpha."

Dreamer gave a _sad, frustrated_ growl. That just made it more important for him to think of something else.

* * *

"Stop it! Whatever you're doing back there, stop it!"

Tuffnut grinned, ignoring Snotlout's demands. Or maybe he was complying? He wasn't doing anything at all, but Snotlout thought he was, which was even funnier than actually doing something.

"…What _are_ you doing back there?" Ruffnut asked, then wandered around. Tuffnut shrugged and prodded Snotlout between the shoulder blades, triggering another wave of demands and threats. "Ooh, I get it," she said with a sly grin at Snotlout's frustration. "That's pretty mean."

It was about that point Hiccup and Toothy prowled onto the scene, Toothy looking very pleased. Tuffnut considered that, then walked around to check Snotlout over. Maybe they'd overdone it a bit, he was pretty bruised and battered. Well, most of that had been Ruffnut.

Astrid stalked in a few moments later. "Oh Thor, what have you guys been _doing_ to him?"

"Whatever we want," Ruffnut cackled.

"Oh Astrid! My princess, you've come to rescue me–"

"Oooon second thought, maybe I'll come back later," Astrid thought aloud.

She was followed by Gothi – uh oh, busted. The old woman frowned disapprovingly at Tuffnut, and he gave her an apologetic grin. There were two people nobody, including Tuffnut and his sister, would mess with directly, and that was Stoick and Gothi. Both of them were very capable of making lives miserable.

"Ow!" Tuffnut barked as she whacked his helmet with her staff. She had a way of doing it that wasn't at all pleasant, not like a good hit from a mace. Ruffnut yelped moments later.

The little old woman tapped Snotlout with the staff, then pointed it back to the camp. "Alright, alright," Tuffnut sighed, hooking an arm under Snotlout's shoulder. Ruffnut took the other side without fuss, and they dragged him back and dropped him unceremoniously in his place with the other frozen Vikings. Some of the others were talking casually, which was amusing with how they were all locked in battle poses.

"Come on guys, we're going to look for the Speed Stingers," Astrid announced, gripping her axe; not in fear or anger, but more like a grim determination.

"So what's the plan?" Tuffnut asked, knowing there wasn't one.

"We find them first, then work it out from there." Heh, called it. "If nothing else, Toothy will challenge the alpha and drive them away."

Tuffnut paused. "Uhh, you okay with that Toothy?" The dragon chuffed at him. "Alright… Just don't get overconfident, these things are real fast."

Toothy said something about his scales, but the new language was not Tuffnut's forte. He spoke with trust and confidence though, so the meaning was clear. "Yeah well just be careful."

Hiccup didn't look at all happy about it, which was to be expected. That was a dragon who abhorred violence; probably for the best given how dangerous Night Furies could be. "And you watch his back," Tuffnut told him. _No duh_, said the look he received back.

"I'm coming with you!" Snotlout had finally worked his face out of the blanket they'd dropped him on.

Tuffnut rolled his eyes at him. "And how you gonna do that, moron? You can't even move."

"We're wasting daylight, let's go," Astrid urged, and they legged it to the clearing the dragons were lounging in.

Belch gargled happily at him as he jogged up, the sinuous neck snaking around him. "You ready to start some trouble?" Tuffnut asked.

"No trouble," Astrid growled, the spoilsport. "Just check the caves near the village and signal if you find them. Don't do anything stupid." She then took off on Stormfly, followed by the Furies.

"Can you believe her? Always barking orders," Ruffnut complained as they took off.

Tuffnut made a noncommittal noise. "Not like we listen much anyway."

"And yet, here we are, doing _work_. This stinks."

"Yeah well the sooner we sort this out, the sooner we get our village back and can go back to causing mayhem," he tried reasoning with her.

"Since when are you such a goody two shoes? Come on, let's just get this over with." They nudged their dragon in perfect sync–

Barf promptly attempted to fly a different direction to Belch, and they dropped halfway to the ground before levelling out again. _"What_ just happened!?" Ruffnut asked in a grating screech.

"I… dunno…" Tuffnut was just as stunned as she was. "Are we…"

"…out of sync?" she finished for him, and they looked at each other.

"Pff, nah," they both said together, and pulled on the reins again–

Only to end up dangling in a tree. "Okay, this might be a problem," Tuffnut allowed.

"Ya think?"

Getting out of the tree wasn't nearly as much of a problem as getting Barf and Belch down, but they managed it eventually and got back into the air. "Okay," Tuffnut called over to his sister, "just follow my lead and let's just do this."

"What? Why am _I_ following _your_ lead?"

"Because you were the one complaining about doing it," he shot back. "Fine then, you lead."

She put her nose in the air. "Maybe I don't want to."

Tuffnut groaned. "Do you want to lead or not? Because I'm not telling Astrid we didn't check any of our caves."

"I don't want to, but I will," she decided, and Tuffnut groaned again. Now she was just being obstinate.

Flying like this was slow going, but they gradually got through the caves in the area they'd been given to check. It was like walking with one of your legs facing the wrong way. Nobody could work out which head controlled what, or if they were separate at all, but when the heads didn't agree then it was just mayhem.

"This is stupid," Ruffnut grumbled as they flew. "We've been out here, like, half the day and we haven't found _anything."_

"Well, there's a lot of caves, and only one pack of Speed Stingers. Chances are they aren't in any of these."

"Then why are we bothering to check?"

"Why bother doing anything? Why bother eating, we're only going to get hungry again."

"Don't be stupid," she growled, tugging on Barf to avoid a tree.

Unfortunately, Tuffnut was a bit distracted and she'd picked the long way around it for some reason, so they ended up colliding with it instead.

"Ugh… this is getting old," he groaned, dangling from a branch again. "I think I'll take over for the last few. That good with you?" He looked around. "…Sis?"

He spotted her on the ground below – that probably wasn't good – and deftly climbed down the branches and slid down the trunk. "You okay sis?"

"Do I _look_ okay?" she hissed, clutching at her leg. "We have to go back."

_Great_, Astrid was going to flip. At least there were only a few places left to check. "Alright, come on." He helped her up, and after a few failed attempts to get her into the saddle Barf just picked her up by the collar. "That works too," he said, smirking at her indignant frown.

They flew back to the camp, which was easy to spot by all the smoke above it, and landed in the big clearing. Tuffnut then helped his sister hobble over to Gothi, who looked at them sternly. "Hey, we weren't doing anything stupid this time," he said defensively.

"Yeah, just had a bit of trouble with the dragon," Ruffnut grumbled. He gave her a sympathetic punch on the shoulder before abandoning her to her fate. It was very unfortunate this had happened now, but at least _she_ was the one being reminded why they never crossed Gothi.

A fate even worse than what she was leaving him to. "So, uh, Astrid," he started levelly.

Astrid just looked at him, glanced around for Ruffnut, then rubbed her forehead. "How bad is it?"

Tuffnut shrugged. "She's with Gothi, so must be pretty bad."

She gave a satisfied smirk and sympathetic wince at the same time. "Did you at least get all your caves checked?"

"Nah, we didn't get to the last area. You know, the one around that big boulder that looks like Gustav picking his nose."

"Oh yeah, I know the one," Astrid said with a nod. "I'll get it. Go help Fishlegs on the bridge, Hiccup had a good idea."

"On it!" Tuffnut shouted and ran off. Mostly he was happy to have somehow avoided Astrid's ire – he wasn't afraid of it, it just wasn't something he liked to stumble into – but he was excited to see what this idea was.

* * *

"Is this _it?_ Well that's _boring."_

Fishlegs looked up to see Tuffnut climbing through the ropes and wires criss-crossing over the bridge. "Yeah, but effective. Just watch out for–" He winced as Tuffnut slipped over and ended up dangling in the ropes. "–the ice…"

"…What's ice gonna do?" Tuffnut asked as he extracted himself. "Dragons have claws."

"Yeah but they won't be able to speed over it as quickly," Fishlegs explained as he upended another bucket of snow and began treading it down.

Hiccup still had that creative streak, there was no doubt about that, and bottlenecking the dragons on the bridge was brilliant; it was considered part of the bridge, but really this was the path affixed to the cliffside that led to the bridge. The plan was simply to slow them down enough that a handful of archers would make any advance very painful. Hopefully, dissuading the dragons from the village would be enough to move them from the island, as Berk was not a good habitat for fast runners. They'd prefer somewhere more open where they could reach top speed.

In a way, it was a pity they would be leaving, Fishlegs would love a chance to better study them. He would need to keep an eye out for them in future.

"You okay girl?" he asked Meatlug as he returned for another bucket of snow. The Gronkle chattered happily, her wings lifting her into the air – about a foot, from where she dropped limply back to the ground with a surprised expression. "Hey, you're going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that," he said gently, then _"Stay,"_ in Dragonese.

She grumbled at him and blurred her wings irritably, but didn't try to take off again.

"Is there a reason we ain't just burnin' the bridge?" asked a stout farmer by the name of Magnus as he hammered hooks into the cliff and side of the bridge to fix the ropes to.

"Well, yeah," Fishlegs replied casually. "They know there's food here, so to them it's just a matter of how they can get to it. If we burn the bridge down, they'll just keep looking for another way onto the islet. By making it difficult, but not impossible, we can injure them with arrows to make it painful enough that either we'll be able to round them up or they'll just decide it's not worth it and leave." Plus they wouldn't then need to rebuild the bridge, which wasn't all that easy even with dragons.

"Right…" Magnus agreed, sounding like he hadn't understood a word of it.

Fishlegs was putting together an analogy from what he knew of farming when Hiccup and Toothy drifted in to land on the bridge. They were on the other side of the tangle of rope, but it was clear they were talking, and then without warning they raced into the wires.

It both proved the effectiveness of the trap and revealed a glaring issue. They both scrambled over the first hurdle, slipped on the ice onto their bellies, and slid several paces _under_ the ropes. Hiccup got to his paws, cocked his head, then dove forward and crossed the rest of the distance like a black toboggan with Toothy close behind.

"…Oooh, we should fix that," Fishlegs said as Hiccup slid to a halt nearby. The dragon got up and nodded at him, then flinched and staggered as Magnus started hammering in another hook.

"N-… Noise!" Fishlegs blurted out while Hiccup shook himself. "Oh Thor, how could we forget about that!? That was like, the _first_ lesson in dragon training! We need some noisy metal stuff… What about eels? Should we get some of them too?"

Hiccup sat back, looking thoughtful, but then shook his head. _"Too cold, they just ice."_

"Yeah, good point. Plus it would distract the few dragons we have. Alright, this should be more than enough anyway."

* * *

Astrid stood with her mouth hanging open, trying to comprehend exactly _what_ was going on.

It wasn't just that Ruffnut apparently wasn't causing mayhem – having a leg in a splint wasn't normally a hindrance to the arguably more chaotic twin – it was that she was somehow keeping some dozen kids from causing mayhem as well, by herself and injured as she was. She was even lounging on a log with her feet kicked up, using a branch as a backrest.

_"Ruffnut!?"_

"Oh, hey Astrid!" Ruffnut called out cheerfully. "You find those pesky dragons yet?"

"Uhhh… No…?"

"Eh, I'm sure they'll turn up." She raised a hand to point into the trees. "That was your last warning Thoren! _Get 'im!"_

Astrid's mouth got a little wider as every kid abandoned what they were doing to swarm into the trees and drag another kid back, depositing him in front of Ruffnut. "Nice running form, Svog. Flex them muscles for me? Niiiiiice."

The offending kid just sat there sullenly. Ruffnut wasn't actually _doing_ anything to him, just talking to the other kids, but he looked like he was receiving the worst scolding of his life. Granted, he'd just been humiliated, but this was _Ruffnut,_ things could be a lot worse.

"…Kids!?" Astrid finally got out as the kids went back to playing with sticks and dirt. After everything she had tried to get Ruffnut into, _kids_ were her forte? Maybe this was one of those things that was so backwards it sort of looped back around on itself, because it was starting to make a sort of weird chaotic sense.

"Huh? These guys? I dunno, I was just asked to watch one for a moment and they just sort of multiplied." She shrugged and called one of the bigger kids over, then whispered something at him and watched him walk off to roughly shove a smaller kid to the ground. She held up a hand to silence Astrid's objection, then called the smaller kid over and leaned over him. "Now you know how Emer felt when you pushed _him_ over."

"I get him tougher," the kid pouted, crossing his arms.

"Don't you worry about making him tougher, you just worry about making _you_ tougher," Ruffnut said firmly, prodding him in the shoulder. "Pick on kids your own age or bigger, got that? You don't want to be _weak_ do you?"

The kid stood straight and fervently shook his head. "Good," Ruffnut said with a smirk, leaning back again. "Go beat up Grotlout, I could use a laugh." The kid charged off again, probably to start a fight.

"Do you know _all_ their names?" Astrid asked incredulously.

"When you've got an aunt who looks after every kid in the village, yeah, you pick up a few things." A few more things than anyone expected, it seemed. "Hey, you wipe that smirk off your face, I ain't looking after a bunch of stinking kids for a living! This is just until I can walk again." She grumbled something about the "stupid healer" under her breath.

"Alright, whatever you say Ruff," Astrid said while hiding a smirk behind her hand. "We're making a stand in the village, I was hoping you and Tuff could bring Barf and Belch, but…"

"Sorry to disappoint you!" Ruffnut said cheerfully, sounding anything but sorry. "Guess you'll have to fight the stupid dragons without me. Been nice knowin' ya."

Astrid sighed and continued through the camp, making her way to the clearing where they were keeping the dragons. She was pleased to find Stormfly the one in the last patch of sunlight, Barf, Belch, and Hookfang glaring at her from nearby.

"Hey girl, sorry I've got no snack for you today," she said calmly, stroking her Nadder's snout. "You'll just have to hunt for yourself." Not that Stormfly understood, but that wasn't the point, she knew perfectly well to hunt if she was hungry. Only pets and slaves relied on being fed all the time, and Stormfly was neither.

Astrid took a breath and stood back, formulating what she wanted to ask. _"You know Fast-Paws?"_ She should have done this hours ago, but it was normally something she could leave to Fishlegs.

Stormfly warbled, though Astrid didn't think it was a word. _"I see some. Not can fly. Not can bring food."_ It took Astrid a moment to remember the dragons used to be slaves to a queen, and were forced to bring food or be eaten. It made sense the queen wouldn't be interested in flightless slaves.

_"You see them fight?"_ Astrid asked, hoping for some sort of insight.

_"No,"_ Stormfly swiped back. _"I only see them eaten."_

It was suddenly very clear why there hadn't been any around Berk until now. Funny to think the queen that had been raiding them constantly had been protecting them from a much bigger threat all along. She would need to talk to Stoick about it, this was unlikely to be the last exotic dragon they would see, and the more common Scauldron attacks made more sense too.

"Alright, thanks girl," she said, stroking her dragon again and attempting to thank her in Dragonese; Fishlegs always told her off for messing up the pitch or something, but it was tricky when pressing her cheek to the warm scales. Stormfly knew what she meant, anyway. "Come on, it's getting dark. Time to see if this works…"

* * *

The shadows stretched and rose from the ground as the sky-fire began its nightly quenching in the sea, and the air took on a strange hue through the dusting of snow.

Berk was a big island, and the Fast-Paws – or Speed Stingers, if one could actually say the words – were nowhere to be found. Not a trace of them, even the scents cold and dead in the ice that still gripped the land and sea.

Dreamer barely even felt the bite of the wind though. He was cold in another way, one of trepidation and fear that gripped his core and had him trembling. This plan would work, right? Fifteen archers could take some sixty or so dragons if they were slowed enough, and the expanse of tangled ropes and ice should certainly see to that. If even that wasn't enough, the pot and hammer would produce a horrific ringing to cripple any advance. There were also three Nadders, the only available dragons after Ruffnut had somehow injured herself, to add their fire as a last resort. If anything, they might be overprepared.

That didn't help to ease the sense of dread, the trepidation that felt like a shard of ice in the sternum. He could see it in everyone else too, stiff shoulders and wide alert eyes that jumped with a twitch of the head to every sound in the failing light. It didn't help that the Nadders kept rattling and setting everyone else off.

Some part of Dreamer was screaming for him to flee, to fly to his safe little cave high up the cliff and not come out until morning. It was worse that he knew Wanderer would happily agree and stay with him if he suggested it, keeping them both well out of harm's way. But this was his plan, and he needed to see it through.

There was no more snow being blown around on the light wind than earlier, but it became more and more obscuring as darkness fell. Soon, even Dreamer's eyes had trouble picking out the treeline across the channel. To his eyes the braziers set up along the bridge weren't helping much, but arrows were still nocked and bows held with confidence.

_"Where are they?"_ Astrid asked some time after the last motes of light faded from the village. _"Did they leave the island already? Not that I'm arguing, but it doesn't feel right…"_

Dreamer froze. Had he imagined that enquiring chirp over the wind, one unlike from any dragon he had heard before? No, Wanderer was tense too, and was currently drawing the same terrible conclusion from Dreamer. They had both definitely heard the sound… and were now realising how stupid it was to assume the dragons had actually left the village.

They turned slowly, quietly, and backed towards the bridge.

Astrid took one look at them and spun with her axe up, whispering a tense warning to the others.

A single dragon emerged from the snowy darkness, plodding forward on long, spindly legs. Its muscled thighs made it look disproportioned, even more so with how its eyes were set above its too-large mouth. A sail flexed curiously on its head, which twitched side to side as it observed the Vikings and dragons with eyes that reflected a red glow even Dreamer could see.

It suddenly broke the silence with a screeched warning, then found itself with a few arrows protruding from its front. At close range, and slightly downhill, they went deep enough that the dragon would not survive without attention.

Dreamer's sympathy for it was short-lived, as he was quickly distracted by _dozens_ more appearing from the icy gloom. Many of them stopped, but some charged through with such speed that their tails hissed through the air.

Several of the bows and the hammer fell to the ground as their wielders were stung. They were _fast_, faster than anything Dreamer had ever seen, but could not just continue running past the group. Four were cut down by swords and axes that were brought forward while they slowed to turn.

There had not been time for Dreamer to do anything, and suddenly the deaths of five dragons were on his conscience in as many seconds. The survivors of the first wave zipped around in front of him, and then his narrowed eyes were flicking every which way to keep track of everything.

Stormfly took off without warning, and Astrid shouted at the other riders whose dragons were miraculously untouched until they too left the ground. She then dove for the hammer, and Dreamer threw his paws over his ears with a bark of alarm.

The sound of metal striking the big pot weighed on him like a physical thing, pressing down into his head. It seemed to go on and on, and strangely it soon sounded louder in his head than his ears. If this sound could keep the dragons at bay long enough for the others to escape, he and Wanderer could just fly out of there! Speed Stingers didn't have the advantage of covering their ears.

And yet, there was no second tolling of the pot, just a scraping sound. Dreamer forced his eyes open to see Astrid getting to her feet, another dead dragon behind her and her axe dripping a dark liquid. There was no sign of the heavy pot, not that it had done much good anyway by the chaos that still surrounded him.

_Challenge!_ Everyone flinched and stilled as Wanderer's deafening roar echoed into the village.

This was something Dreamer had not seen in a long time, and hoped he wouldn't see again. In hunts they always worked together, especially with the more dangerous prey, but Wanderer's low, wide stance and hunched wings were more reminiscent of when he'd gate-crashed the final Dragon Training exam. Everything about him said he was fighting alone.

The Speed Stingers all milled about, flitting between the steps to the Great Hall and the cliff. "Go," Dreamer huffed quietly at Astrid. He was terrified of what would happen, but right now they had a ceasefire they couldn't afford to waste. "Get everyone away. We can fly if need."

_"Okay,"_ she whispered back, then rallied everyone. Injuries were quickly taken care of and the paralysed people pulled back, probably to be airlifted out.

Movement caught Dreamer's eye, a larger sail on a taller Speed Stinger moving forward through the pack. It stood a head taller than its kin, and had markings on its head. Red markings, it looked like, and a red sail, which became evident as it approached the light. _Challenge_, it snarled back.

* * *

Wanderer knew perfectly well how fragile this situation was. His roar had caused all the Fast-Paws to hesitate, but all it would take was a twitch from the alpha to set the pack on them again.

The alpha considered him as it stepped forward, its small paws disappearing into the snow. It knew it didn't need to accept, but was proud and overconfident. It casually sized him up, weighing status and risk.

Even without his fire, Wanderer was confident; the Fast-Paws were extremely fast, as their name indicated, but mainly in running and they needed some small distance to get up to speed. He did not need to compete with that speed in a fight like this.

_Challenge!_ the Fast-Paw alpha roared back, and Wanderer relaxed a little. The pack would not interfere now, not after its alpha had accepted a challenge. Not unless one of the Long-Paws interfered, but he had to trust Dreamer was handling that.

They silently prowled towards each other, eyes narrow and blanking out everything else. Only their opponent mattered.

The Fast-Paw's tail swayed above it, poised and ready to strike, but Wanderer carefully kept himself out of range. The tail was the main threat, followed by the hindlegs; the jaws and forelegs did not look strong enough to cause real damage, but would be used to grapple and hold, if only for a crucial moment.

Despite his confidence, a hype buzzed in Wanderer's limbs as he dodged the first strike, the tail impaling the ground where he'd been a moment ago. He'd been inadvertently conditioning himself to speed, playing with a very fast Nightstriker for so long, but this was a very different sort of fight than he was used to. Whatever happened, he could not allow himself to be hit by that tail.

He dodged a quick follow-up strike, watching for patterns and openings. Attacking it head-on was foolish, he needed to somehow get around it and under the range of the tail, though any sort of grapple or pin would be risky.

Before he could run out of room to retreat to, Wanderer reared over the next strike and brought his weight down, his paw colliding with the Fast-Paw's head and staggering it. That dangerous tail whipped around for balance; an opening, if he could strike at it again.

They prowled around each other, ignoring the onlookers. With its side to him, the Fast-Paw had a longer reach, and Wanderer eyed the swaying barb cautiously. He was therefore unprepared when the alpha suddenly lunged at him, raking some shallow cuts down his face before he could react.

The tail would follow, so Wanderer lunged forward and sent them both rolling over each other. He got his teeth into its neck, but it was a dangerous place to be and he wasn't in a position to tear out its throat, so kicked it away and scrabbled back.

It got to its paws and screeched at him, then jumped forward again. Wanderer knew better this time and leaped forward, under it, to get behind where he could grab the tail and do what he needed to.

His blood ran cold as pain erupted near the end of his own tail, followed by a strange numbness; he could feel it, but it felt cold and unresponsive. The sensation was also spreading up towards his body. The Fast-Paw was already out of reach, he couldn't end the fight himself before this numbness took hold.

Wanderer did the only thing he could. He pulled his tail in to hug it and tucked his head down, then wrapped himself tightly in his wings before they could lock in place.

* * *

_"Ah think ah'll stay. Me mum 'n dad went by dragon, an' ah fancy takin' a few more out."_

Dreamer wasn't paying much attention to what was going on behind him. He stood there, watching the fight, tensed and ready to do… nothing. Interrupting would only bring the rest of the pack into it. It wasn't as if he could relax though.

With his heart in his throat, he watched Wanderer dart under the Speed Stinger, which speared the ground behind him. He didn't know how far the others had got with getting away, as prying his eyes away from the fight would mean he'd miss something.

What was going on in front of him, however… Wanderer wasn't getting back up, and the Speed Stinger had taken its distance and stood there casually. Dreamer stared at that dark lump on the ground, his breathing short and sharp.

The Speed Stinger alpha walked forward, not at all concerned, and prodded the lump. The rest of the pack was creeping forward now, so Dreamer did as well to get a better look. His friend was nothing but a rounded black cocoon, protecting his vitals.

The alpha kicked him, a powerful leg slamming into the wing, though it hit something behind it and did no damage. It gave a short and confused warble, inspecting the black mass.

Wanderer had _lost._ It felt like that shouldn't be possible.

Dreamer went stiff as the alpha shrieked _challenge!_ It bit at Wanderer, trying to pry his wings open, then delivered several swift kicks in rapid succession. The fight was over, but the Speed Stinger alpha was continuing it.

_Some packs challenge to death._

There was no other explanation.

_Challenge!_

The roar left Dreamer's throat before he knew what was happening. He felt weirdly hot and cold at the same time, and wasn't quite holding the trembling at bay, but the alternative… There were really only two outcomes. He'd win the fight, and he and Wanderer would both live, or he'd lose and they'd both die. Those were the only two outcomes that mattered.

Making a contemplative clucking sound, the alpha looked between the two Nightstrikers. It then looked at the pack, and fixed its stare at Dreamer, who _willed_ himself to calm and stare back levelly.

_Challenge!_ it roared back.

Dreamer felt his paws slowly walk him forward, low to the ground. His tail lashed behind him, and a growl rumbled through his bared teeth. His eyes were narrowed and trained for the twitching of muscles that would betray the alpha's movements before it made them.

He was expecting the first strike and darted to the side, skipping off the cold ground and around his opponent. The alpha turned slowly – only a couple of heartbeats, it just felt slow – but its tail had already drawn back and hovered above it, ready to strike.

It growled and leapt forward – instead of darting under it as Wanderer had, somehow resulting in getting stung, Dreamer darted backwards. It landed running, quickly picking up speed and closing the distance. That deadly tail lanced forward–

And grazed off Dreamer's wing, held forward at an angle. With a flick, he batted the barb away and met the alpha's charge with a heavy strike of his paw that sent it skidding in the light snow.

He took the opportunity and lunged while the tail was being used for balance, barging it and bringing his claws up to keep it off balance. Instead of whipping around, however, the tail planted firmly against the ground–

The powerful legs lifted and _slammed_ into Dreamer, squarely in his chest, and launched him back several body lengths. The pain was distant, forgotten in the haste to get to his paws and back into that key zone around the alpha before it could recover; out of range of its stinger, but not so far it could sprint at him.

Dreamer kept a wary eye on the tail as he stalked the boundary of its range. Its attacks were predictable now, all revolving around that tail. It lunged forward again, and Dreamer deftly leaned aside to let it strike the ground under him. This close, it could not pull back fast enough to avoid Dreamer's teeth clamping down on it.

He bit down hard, feeling the needle points puncture the leather and scrape against bone. The Speed Stinger howled as Dreamer tugged it to the ground, rending muscle. It would recover, eventually, but the tail was out of the fight.

_Submit_, Dreamer snarled around the tail, but the alpha lunged and tried to scratch and grapple him with its short arms. It could not compete with Dreamer's strong forelegs, and was lifted and slammed heavily into the ground. _Submit_, he snarled again.

It kicked at him with its hindlegs, so Dreamer shredded its flank. It bit at him so he slashed its face. _Submit!_

Still it dragged itself upright, growling madly. Why wasn't it submitting? Did it _want_ him to kill it?

Dreamer refused to do that. He would beat it senseless, to protect Wanderer, but he _wouldn't_ kill it for the sake of it. When it staggered at him with a roar, Dreamer put all of his weight into a strike that threw it to the ground and sent it sprawling.

He stood there, panting, staring at the dragon laying in the snow and grass. It was still breathing, and didn't even appear to be unconscious, but this time it did not get up.

Dreamer's muscles suddenly refused to hold still, and he trembled from nose to tail. What… what had just _happened!?_ He could remember everything of the fight, but it had been as if he wasn't in control. There had been no thoughts, no planning, just acting and reacting. He lowered himself to his haunches and _willed_ his body to stop shaking, but his muscles refused to cooperate.

The Speed Stinger pack was edging forward again, eyes on their alpha and Dreamer. Their jerky movements were a little difficult to read, but they looked and sounded confused. One of them stood over the downed alpha and trilled enquiringly at Dreamer.

"Leave this small-land," Dreamer tried, but none gave any indication they understood. _Okay, so–_

The Speed Stinger whipped its tail around and buried it in the alpha's throat. _Challenge!_ it screeched over the dying gurgles.

_Challenge,_ another one growled from the crowd, and the pack stepped back to make room for the new combatants. It was over quickly, one stinging the other and slashing its throat. _Challenge!_ another one roared, and it started again.

Dreamer was helpless to do anything, again merely a spectator. He shakily padded over to the black lump that was Wanderer as the second fight ended, and collapsed next to him, feeling weak and numb in both body and mind. He flinched and whimpered as another roar of _challenge_ rang from the pack.

He couldn't even watch anymore, feeling sick to his stomach, and just draped a wing over Wanderer and tried to tune it out. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore the dying gasps that were quickly silenced.

Four more deaths in total, not even including the original alpha. When there were no more declarations of challenge, Dreamer looked up to see the new alpha considering him. It was much smaller than the original, and had none of the strange markings or colouring, but it was still a bit larger than the others.

The sail on its head flexed as it considered the two Nightstrikers, then glanced at something behind them; probably that one Hooligan who had decided to stay.

_Surely it wouldn't…_ Dreamer simply couldn't go through that again. Either he would need to kill it, or there would be another round of deaths. A glance at Wanderer, at the subtle movement in his back with his breathing, and conviction gripped at Dreamer again. _"Leave,"_ he snarled dangerously.

It stared at him for a long moment, and then let out a roar that had Dreamer tensing ready to spring into action.

And then the whole pack turned tail and disappeared into the murky darkness. Their footsteps were light, but the sheer number of them merged into a strange hum that faded into the distance.

They were gone. Perhaps just back into the village, but Dreamer didn't think so. He collapsed again, then rubbed his head against Wanderer's wing with a sad whimper. Occasional whiffs of blood were carried over the wind, reminding him of the death he was surrounded by; all his fault in one way or another.

Crunching footsteps had him raise his head again and eye the remaining Hooligan warily. It wasn't one Dreamer recognised, but at least the man's axe was on his belt. _"That took guts,"_ he said as he walked over and sat next to Dreamer, staring down into the village. _"Acker said you understand Norse?"_ Dreamer nodded slowly. _"Well ah'll be Loki's skivvies. You two are full of surprises."_

They sat in silence a little longer while the man absently flicked at the snow, then he looked over at Dreamer. _"We should get your brother out o' the cold,"_ he said, climbing to his feet, but Dreamer growled at him. _"…No?"_ A very pointed look at the large and heavy blade on his belt got the message across. _"Ah'll try not to take offense,"_ the Viking said as the axe was casually tossed to the ground. _"Suppose ah cannae blame you though."_

Dreamer shakily rose to his paws, a multitude of wounds weighing down on him. His chest – the second time he'd been kicked there, now – ached with every movement, his back and shoulders stung with a multitude of light scratches, and a line of fire burned along his left wing, the one he had used to block. He discovered the wing was locked to his side and unwilling to move, a small amount of venom must have found its way in.

He pushed through it and followed the Viking as he carried Wanderer, then opened the door to Stoick's house to let them in.

_"I'll go tell everyone i's safe ter come back. Assumin' Astrid has nae already."_ With those words, he left the house and shut the door behind him, leaving Dreamer in an eerie silence.

The oblong ball that was Wanderer had been placed on the floor near the fire, though it was not currently lit. It didn't look or feel like him though, Wanderer was playful, energetic and affectionate, while this sealed mass of scales was silent and still.

Dreamer followed his nose to some light cuts, similar to his own, on Wanderer's shoulders near his wings, and ran his tongue over them. This was too weird, and Wanderer couldn't possibly be comfortable, so Dreamer carefully pried his wings away and then his head up. He was hugging his tail, which Dreamer ran his nose down to find a puncture wound, bloody but staunched. _That_ was how he'd been hit, the barb striking the narrow appendage behind him; simple misfortune.

Wanderer was eventually stretched out and laying a bit better. At least it _looked_ like him now, though the silence was still eerie and his eyes were closed. Dreamer found and treated some more wounds on his head, then nestled in beside him.

Stoick eventually entered the house, moving quietly. _"Ah… Toothy, Hiccup. We were…"_ He sighed and shook his head. _"Hold on, let me get this fire lit…"_ They were soon gathered around a blazing fire, the warmth very welcome after so long in the cold. Dreamer gave a soft purr as a hand briefly caressed his head. _"We were told what happened. What you did for us."_ His hands cupped Dreamer's and Wanderer's jaws. _"I cannot thank you enough."_

Dreamer couldn't talk to him, but there wasn't much to say anyway. He gave a sad warble, nestling back into Wanderer's side.

_All my fault…_ First for assuming the Fast-Paws had left the village, then for trapping everyone with the aggressive dragons, then _that_ failure had forced Wanderer to challenge and get hurt, then his allowing the alpha to live had caused more deaths.

Sleep did not come, though he dozed in a semi-aware state. At some point a fish appeared next to him, initially he was unable to eat it but after a time it was easier to do that than to put up with the smell any longer.

By the time Wanderer began to sag to the floor, Dreamer had had a _lot_ of time to think everything through. Even more by the time Wanderer was able to offer him a gentle croon and nuzzle. He felt unreasonably happy to see those bright green eyes again.

Dreamer purred and licked his friend. He still felt saddened by everything, but was past blaming himself. His lack of experience and foresight, yes, but not his decisions. That, at least, he could live with.

His own wounds were treated, something he hadn't bothered to do himself, and he purred at the tongue on his neck before fetching a fish for Wanderer who was still mostly immobile.

"You fight alpha…?" Wanderer asked after the fish disappeared.

"Yes…"

"You win," he continued in a purr full of _pride, elation, awe_, and did not pry further. He'd probably heard the whole thing anyway, and there was a touch of understanding and sympathy in his expression.

"Unfortunate, it hit your tail," Dreamer crooned quietly.

"Yes, unfortunate, but I also not fast enough. _You_ fast. You strong." He pulled himself on top of Dreamer – his back half was still limp – and purred loudly and happily. Dreamer found it contagious, and couldn't help but purr too.

After it all, despite his misgivings, he _did_ feel strong. Having his friend reaffirm that was a large reason he was purring. And next time, he _would_ do better.


	23. Endeavour

Dreamer glared at the big black lump of iron. _Some help you were_, he thought at it snarkily, then trotted off to tell Fishlegs to tell Olga they'd found their big cooking pot. Apparently, it had rolled halfway down the village and under a cart; Astrid had probably kicked it at the Fast-Paw that had charged her or something.

The aftermath of Berk's brief occupation was surprisingly light, a few kicked in doors and a lot of missing food accounted for the majority. Though, that was not including the damage from the initial takeover. There were several bodies, some that had been taken by the fleeing Hooligans and some that had been left behind and dragged out of the way by the invaders. About as many again were still missing, probably dropped into the sea.

Everyone was either preparing for the funeral that would be held at sundown, or piecing their lives back together. Some had more of a job of it than others.

Dreamer was just trying to put the events behind him. He thought back on the fight with mixed feelings, detesting all the death that surrounded it, but he couldn't deny a measure of elation and confidence at having fought and _won_ against the alpha. No weapons, no tricks, just his muscles, claws, and teeth. At the same time, that terrified him.

And he'd be significantly more dangerous in a couple of years. How easy was it to breathe fire? He might as well have a sword to the throat of anyone he looked at.

Telling a relieved Fishlegs of where the pot had ended up so it could be retrieved was only a small distraction, and then he was back with his thoughts. Where was Wanderer? He needed to play or something, going through events over and over was only going to drive him mad.

Maybe he'd gone back to their den, there hadn't been any sign of him in the village. Dreamer jumped into the air and beat his wings to stay airborne while he picked up speed. Even they felt stronger today, sturdier and more confident. Maybe they could try capping Berk's mountain again.

He didn't need to go as far as the den to find Wanderer, as it turned out he was racing around Stormfly in the training ring. She suddenly lashed out at him, but he dodged teeth and spines with ease. However, when he lunged at her, she just rebuffed him with her superior bulk. It was quickly clear neither could really do anything to the other.

Well, in a real fight she would be trying to flame him, and he'd be going after her wings. Or just fleeing. _Actually…_

Dreamer drifted down and landed on the fence around the ring, then barked to get their attention. "Race!" The word was said in growl of challenge while flaring wings; a race in the sky.

"Fight," Wanderer suggested back, a growl of challenge with bared teeth and flexing claws. Dreamer didn't really–

"Race!" Stormfly growled happily, and Dreamer smirked at Wanderer. Outvoted.

But Wanderer growled off to the side. "I… not can fly good." He swung his tail around and flexed the fins to demonstrate, and sure enough they moved stiffly and slowly. _Wow, we really have terrible luck with our tails._ Well, it was still only the next day, the Fast-Paw venom would wear off soon.

Stormfly nudged him with a squawk and plodded off to sit at the side of the ring. Dreamer sighed. No race then.

Wanderer flapped up onto the rail and stalked along it, moving deliberately. Dreamer groaned, he didn't want to fight, not so soon after the alpha. He needed more time to process; he might not have been the one to strike the killing blow, but its blood was on his claws, figuratively and literally.

Why was Wanderer so set on fighting anyway? _Hrrr…_

"You know," Dreamer said mildly, inspecting his claws and ignoring Wanderer's advance, "I win fight against alpha that win fight against you…"

Wanderer hissed at him. "That not mean you fight better."

"If you say that, you not need fight me then." He shot Wanderer a toothy grin, then trotted along the narrow rung away from him.

A deliberate clicking behind him told of Wanderer stalking along a little faster. "If you fight better than me you not need worry."

"I not worried," Dreamer called over his shoulder. Riling his friend probably wasn't a very bright idea, but he seemed set on fighting either way. This way he could be baited into something more fun. "I just happy I know I fight better."

That did it, Wanderer sprinted along the rung with a snarl, teeth snapping down behind Dreamer's tail as he leapt into the air. _A race it is after all!_ Albeit a slightly different kind of race, where Wanderer was trying to catch him instead of overtake him, but a race nonetheless.

He reached a comfortable height and levelled off, glancing back – and then ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding a grapple. Dreamer snorted at him; so much for being slow.

Actually, no, his tail wasn't warped as Dreamer's had been, it was just stiff. That would restrict his turns and manoeuvrability, not his speed. Dreamer gave him another toothy grin and rolled and looped around him, forcing the Nightstriker into sharp turns he couldn't make as quickly. Stormfly joined them at some point too, but just drifted around to watch.

He did accrue a few scrapes, Wanderer landing light slashes with some surprising aerobatics, many of which Dreamer tucked away to work out later. One such trick was angling into a sudden gust of wind to both brake and launch him much higher, right into Dreamer's path as he flew above and behind, so that he was forced to tuck in his wings and dive.

Sufficiently burned out, Dreamer let gravity take him nearly to the ground before flaring his wings and slowing into a landing, then collapsed onto the cool stone with a purr. He ignored Wanderer coming up behind him, but then squeaked in alarm and surprise as a wet tongue ran up the back of his ear.

Wanderer was just trying to bait him, but it came very close to working. Dreamer rolled over so that the wetness didn't dribble into his ear itself, slashing wildly to force the perpetrator back, then tried pawing off the slimy stuff. "We fight tomorrow," he tried bargaining.

"Tonight?" his friend growled through heavy panting, but grumbled at Dreamer's expression. "Tomorrow."

"I… not know what happened in fight," Dreamer said quietly. "I just… fought."

"Not think for fight," Wanderer agreed. "No time for thinking. Just do."

"But… if not thinking… what if I hurt you?"

Wanderer chortled in amusement, then ran his claws down Dreamer's wing, across the scrape from the fight. "You hurt Fast-Paw without meaning to?"

Dreamer thought about it. Twice he had hit the alpha hard, and both times his claws had been out, but while they had definitely done damage it hadn't been severe. Not until he'd been trying to, anyway, to stop it kicking and biting him. He dipped his head in acknowledgement of what Wanderer was saying.

"Not thinking not mean you different person," his friend continued. "You not kill Fast-Paw alpha. You still Dreamer."

"I should have killed it…" Dreamer mumbled.

Wanderer gave a low, comforting croon and sidled up to him. "Yes. But you also should have killed me, that first night. You not." He hummed thoughtfully. "You thinking other challenges your fault?"

"If I killed alpha, no more challenges. No more dead."

"No. You lead them to other small-land, leave them there? _Then_ they fight, die."

That was a horrifying thought. Why would anyone throw their life away so readily? Fighting for the position of alpha made sense, Vikings weren't all that different, but to then kill the other would mean less strong fighters in the pack overall. "That not make sense. Why?"

Wanderer shrugged. "Fast-Paws aggressive. Maybe too much fighting if not to death. I not know. Not care."

Maybe, if they were aggressive dragons then fighting to the death would be a measure against constant challenges… but surely there was a better way. Some rule or…

Dreamer slumped. They were wild dragons, simple in mind and nature. Even as much as he liked Stormfly, it was clear she simply wasn't as intelligent as Nightstrikers, and she was still one of the smarter dragons. That didn't make the deaths any lighter, but if there was truly no way around it…

He growled under his breath. He didn't want to just leave it like that, but they were long gone now and it appeared to be just something else he didn't have the power to change.

There was a plodding approach, then a squeak, and Dreamer was suddenly a bit battered by Wanderer rolling over him. He wriggled free and shook himself, then glared at Stormfly who was chittering happily to herself. She reached forward with a leg, her long talons extending under Dreamer's chest, and then he squeaked in surprise himself as she flipped him over with little difficulty.

Dreamer growled indignantly as he got to his paws again, sharing a mischievous look with Wanderer. They hadn't played with Stormfly before, and she was a lot tougher than Tuffnut or a few toddlers…

* * *

On her usual morning jog to the training ring, a little later than usual after dealing with a few things on the way, Astrid slowed as she heard playful draconic sounds. Recognising Stormfly and the Furies, she crept the remaining distance and peered over the rim of the ring.

Stormfly stood in the middle, very still as two black shapes growled and crawled over her. One was hanging from her face to chew her horn, the other somehow got onto her back and seemed unsure what to do from there.

Without warning, she flicked her head and sent the first one skidding across the ground, and then she leaped into the air and bucked wildly, the black shape on her back clinging for dear life with wide eyes. After a few impressive jumps, he remained in the air a little longer than she did, shrieking and flailing wildly until he met the ground with a slap.

Astrid was worried for a moment he'd hurt himself, but he scrambled to his paws, gave himself a vigorous shake, then bounded back at Stormfly and clung to her leg. The first Fury had also recovered, and while she was distracted he jumped up to drape himself over her neck and chirped demandingly. She kicked the one off her leg, flinging it across the stone, then flattened her crown of spines over the other and shook wildly.

Flattening herself to the stone so as to not distract them, Astrid watched the scene unfold, trying and failing to not get teary with unbridled joy. She'd been intending on going flying to unwind before throwing herself back into her duties and training, but this was much, much more effective. She occasionally had to wince though, they were all playing very roughly, but were quickly proving their wings were a lot less fragile than they looked.

Lucky little dragons, not a care in the world, just living day to day and taking everything as it comes. It was times like this Astrid envied the simplicity of their life; not that she begrudged her own lot in any way, it was just nice to fantasise about sometimes.

* * *

Wanderer sighed, still rubbing the morning weariness from his face, as Dreamer finished explaining his plan. He could see the reasoning behind it, and agreed with the principle, but it was all just… very _Dreamer_.

"You want do this now?" Wanderer asked. "Not when have fire?"

Dreamer fidgeted. "I thinking after Fast-Paws leave, where they go. Also not need fire, good we not have for this." Wanderer disagreed wholeheartedly with that, but he knew better than to argue. This was _Dreamer_, when he got a bone he chewed it until either he broke it, or it broke a tooth; that had been funny the first few times. Wanderer might as well just accept it was going to happen.

Wrrr, he probably could hold him back quite easily, but again with the bone, Dreamer wouldn't just forget about it.

He shook himself to clear his head and prowled around to block off the entrance of their den, eyes narrowed. Dreamer glanced up and groaned. "Why you always want fight," he grumbled.

"Because I need get stronger," Wanderer growled in frustration at himself; he was still bitter he'd let himself get hit by that tail. "You also need get stronger."

"Yes," Dreamer groaned and took his stance.

_Huff,_ that wasn't the attitude to fight with. Wanderer wanted him to give it his all. "I not want fight like this," he said, stretching and padding forward.

Dreamer groaned again. "You want fight, you not want fight, what you want?"

It was always satisfying seeing that moment of realisation, the raised ears and narrowed eyes right as Wanderer got him. His tail flicked Dreamer's leg out from under him, dropping him to his chest, then Wanderer pounced and got his tongue up the back of his ear before it could flatten.

"Again!?" Dreamer griped loudly, desperately pawing at his ear, then lunged with a snarl. This was more like it! Wanderer darted to the side, but Dreamer sped around behind him and clawed onto his back.

He was forced to roll to throw him off, then kicked him away for time to get to his paws. They prowled around each other with low growls, waiting for the other to make the next move.

It was Dreamer to lunge first, ramming into Wanderer; his claws scraped the stone as he was pushed back. Wanderer was quite a lot bigger though and quickly found his footing, then jabbed at Dreamer's neck with the wrist of his wing. It was enough to put him off-balance enough to lunge and grapple him, but he twisted out of it and clocked Wanderer with his tail as he spun around.

Seeing the opportunity, Dreamer got his own paws around Wanderer's neck, but with the size difference was easily overpowered and pinned to the ground. A painful kick to Wanderer's side loosened his grip enough that Dreamer threw him off and darted back. He was very slippery, Wanderer had to give him that.

Dreamer was favouring his right side, the steps on those paws just a little shorter than his left, so Wanderer kept moving around him to abuse that minute advantage. He lunged forward while Dreamer was mid-step, slightly off balance, and swiped at him, keeping him on the defensive. Teeth, claws, shoulder, claws, shoulder, wing, teeth, he kept up the assault to push Dreamer back into the wall, then–

The fight bled out of him as he realised Dreamer wasn't fighting back anymore. Wanderer took a deep breath to calm himself, feeling hurt for the shivering Nightstriker who was clearly doing everything to stop himself curling into a ball. He padded forward and nudged Dreamer with his snout, then winced and crooned apologetically at the violent flinch it elicited.

This didn't make sense… but he buried that for now to sidle up against Dreamer and drape a wing over him, offering a comforting purr and nuzzling him until the tense breaths calmed a little. They stayed like that a while; Wanderer didn't know what to say at these times, and he felt bad for pushing Dreamer like this, but at the same time knew Dreamer wanted his help to overcome these bad instincts.

He purred more genuinely and gave a happy nuzzle when Dreamer licked him; the _last_ thing he wanted to do was make Dreamer afraid of him, so the reassurance was appreciated. "You still… not can fight me," Wanderer said, an observation only.

Dreamer sighed. "It like before. I not…" He growled quietly to himself.

"What different for fight with alpha?" Wanderer asked, careful to keep his tone curious, as he had to admit he was a _little_ hurt that Dreamer apparently only had a problem with fighting him. Wrr, but there had been the teeth-hurts on his neck when they were separated…

"I not know," the smaller Nightstriker said as he vacantly stared outside. "I just knew I needed fight alpha…"

So, it was only when he absolutely needed to? That sounded like Dreamer… though that didn't explain the teeth-hurts…

Wanderer purred. Those hurts had been before they'd figured out what the problem was, and had been working to fix it. That had to be it. It shot down Wanderer's hope of finally fighting him properly though, as the only way to accomplish that would be a real fight which he wasn't willing to do; Dreamer was too smart to fall for a bluff, though he wouldn't do that either.

Wrrr, Dreamer had been sullen long enough, time to break him out of it. "Now you tell Long-Paws your stupid plan?"

"Not stupid," Dreamer growled, batting at him. "But… yes, we do that."

A high bark left Wanderer's throat as a wet tongue ran up the back of his ear, and he threw himself to the ground to rub it against the stone with agitated growls.

"See? It not nice." Dreamer batted Wanderer's snout a few more times, then hopped from the den.

* * *

_"You want – do _what!?"

Wanderer rolled his eyes. He picked out the key Long-Paw words more readily every day, ignoring the meaningless words that strung them together, but the more he heard the less he really wanted to hear. They were a very energetic species, putting too much fire into their shots.

Take this, for example. Dreamer's plan to visit the other Long-Paw nests was dangerous and reckless, but he was determined to do it anyway, and he was determined to do it now.

And now the Long-Paw fledgling-alpha was being very dramatic about it herself, gesturing wildly and shouting about danger and a lot of other words Wanderer could only guess the meaning of. He yawned and lay lazily on his side, fully intending the mild offense towards the outburst.

But he went completely ignored. _Huff_, Long-Paws had no appreciation for anything not in their strange language. Maybe that was why they were so loud, each thing needed to be shouted at them for them to hear it.

Dreamer and Fish-Legs finished explaining, again, and the female began pacing. It was an inane and reckless plan, sure, but it didn't really warrant all this fuss.

_"I need – talk this – with – Chief,"_ she clicked and hummed. That was to be expected, apparently, Dreamer's sire insisted on controlling everything everyone did. And, of course, Dreamer was going with her…

Wanderer weighed his options. A windy day, but sunny and warm, or listening to everyone _talk_. Well… maybe he would learn some new words. He had a feeling it would be useful where they were going.

This next talk turned out to be much more sensible, with Dreamer translating for him. The alpha was apparently happy for them to go – something about the other nests being nervous – on the condition they went with another Long-Paw, who was unfortunately not present. The sire of the rock-head, Dreamer explained, was a sort of sub-alpha so that more alpha things could be done. That sounded complicated, how many alpha things could need doing? Hrrr, though Long-Paws did do everything very differently.

Wanderer tried to commit to memory the hiss, click, and growl that made the name of the sub-alpha, the rock-head's sire. The hardest part about it was he was incapable of making the sounds himself, so they were somehow quiet when he tried to think them.

Before long, however, he was regretting not sunbathing or swimming instead. There was a lot of talking going on, Dreamer was translating but it really wasn't interesting or engaging so it was hard to match the words to the meanings.

He was unwittingly drifting into a nap when he heard the den-mouth close, and pulled an eye open to see the Long-Paw fledglings had left them alone with Dreamer's sire. As nice as the fire was, though, he didn't really want to nap here, and Dreamer didn't look like he wanted to nap at all. Wanderer stretched with a yawn, happy to go flying or something instead; it sounded like the wind might have calmed a little.

* * *

The sooty lantern burned into life, doing a poor job of lighting the room furnished with a sturdy but old desk and bed, but for some reason Alvin preferred working in the dark. Fuel was common and simple to smuggle, so it was not an expensive habit.

Particularly when Berk and its dragons were within reach. His sources reported tamed dragons were not only useful for transport and burden, but also for the resources they naturally provided, some of which were generously "shared" with the Outcast network. After the report of the "queen" dragon and its downfall, Alvin had worried about the fate of his Archipelago without a constant supply of dragons, but it seemed Berk had the answer. An even better answer than his own mixed success with stolen fledglings.

And he wanted it. Whoever controlled the dragons controlled the Archipelago.

With a sigh, he began sifting through the crate of sealed reports, setting aside the less interesting islands to peruse later and vainly hoping for something from Berserk; as easy as it was to plant people there, they were not afforded any real freedom to move around.

One parchment caught his eye as it rolled and the name tilted into view – _Berk_.

He rubbed the stump on his right arm with a scowl. News from Berk was always about how great the island was to live on and how they were constantly doing the impossible, but that news would eventually be the key to taking power. He missed Mildew's reports, they had always painted a wonderfully bleak and miserable picture.

However, this parchment looked longer than normal. Alvin reluctantly cracked the seal and skimmed the first few lines, expecting the usual drivel… then went back and started reading properly.

So they weren't completely impervious to dragon attacks after all. Although, those damnable Night Furies had been the ones to pull them from the fire, so it seemed likely most other tribes would not have survived…

Five marks against that note, another six on the outside. Five days before it was collected, six days in transit, so the information was eleven days old; a simple and foolproof system.

But it didn't end there. There was another section of news, only three marks against it. He read through it sceptically… and then a second time with a wide grin. _This_ was something he could work with, a big piece of a plan he'd been wrestling with for some time, and it opened another door that would allow him to try _so many_ things in the meantime…

* * *

The Hooligans were a progressive tribe. Constant raids forced swords into everyone's hands, and it was hard not to respect someone who saved your life regardless of gender; this had an additional benefit of gaining the respect of the Bog Burglars, who consisted entirely of women. Slavery had also been abolished generations ago, for being inefficient in the harsh extremes the island was subjected to.

But, when it came down to it, they were still Vikings. Something that Dreamer was unexpectedly reminded of, as he sheltered from the firm wind in the mouth of his den, by three longboats pulling into the docks and beginning to unload large baskets of loot.

The boats had been visibly low in the choppy water, but it was surprising they'd made the full journey at all – just over a week's sailing – given how much was being heaved up the ramps. Gobber would have a field day with all the metals being brought in, and some of it shone in a way that could only be gold and silver.

And what exactly were they going to do with all that? Had it really been necessary to go and take it from others, at the cost of lives? Dreamer growled his disagreement.

An enquiring warble sounded behind him, and gentle footsteps preceded a nose nudging his shoulder. Dreamer huffed and gestured at the activity on the docks, and Wanderer hummed thoughtfully. He probably didn't get it, but Dreamer didn't feel like explaining. There was no guarantee he _would_ get it – or want to, given how much raiding he himself had done – so Dreamer just huffed and stalked back inside, tail flicking irritably.

Wanderer trotted around and lay in front of him, noses claw-lengths from each other, with his tail twitching in amusement. Dreamer snorted and shifted his head a bit, and Wanderer copied him.

…

A paw lashed out, but Wanderer copied that too and they batted each other away. They both snorted in agitation, then blinked in surprise; except Wanderer was grinning happily. _Oh great, I really am that predictable._

Dreamer huffed again and tucked his head against his side. For Wanderer to copy him now, he'd have to look away as well. Too easy.

His ear flicked as something irritated it, and then again. He looked up to give his friend a tired glare, receiving an innocent look back. A quiet warning growl didn't faze him, so Dreamer tucked his head under his wing.

Something tickled the tip of his wing, which he threw off to grab at whatever was annoying him – Wanderer's wing. It wasn't pulled back but was difficult to grab, so he rolled onto his side to swipe and try to grapple it with both paws, and then ended up on his back.

Wanderer reared and dropped himself bodily on him. He was still a lot bigger, and two of Dreamer's paws were pinned under himself, so he couldn't just be thrown off. Dreamer shoved a hindpaw out of his face, then swatted at the flank laying across his neck, but Wanderer just purred loudly and curled up a little. Biting the paw likewise went ignored.

Dreamer gave up with a sigh. His friend made it impossible to mope, and he couldn't even just stay annoyed with warm breaths playing pleasantly down his flank and a purr rumbling into his midsection.

Who needed things to be happy? Hiccup had surrounded himself with things, making new ones constantly, but it had never done him any real good. Wrrr, though Long-Paws were significantly more fragile in practically every respect, they couldn't even survive without clothes, houses, fishing boats, and so on. When he was Hiccup, he'd surrounded himself with things to make up for his shortcomings. All Long-Paws did the same thing, just on a smaller scale.

As a dragon, he no longer needed things. He did miss the problem solving and meticulous crafting involved in inventing something, but he could take or leave it. With no end product he really wanted, he had no inspiration or desire for it.

He wished he could share this peace with–

…Never mind. The whole point of Vikings striving to reach Valhalla was to _avoid_ peace.

There was something fundamentally wrong with that, but what could he do? Vikings _wanted_ to fight and kill each other, to die in battle, and depriving them of that felt disrespectful. On the other paw, letting them throw their lives away felt callous.

Wanderer fidgeted, and Dreamer was brought from his thoughts by teeth biting into his tail. He yipped and squirmed in surprise, but the weight on him held too firmly for him to really do anything about it. A tongue quickly soothed the discomfort, and he relaxed again.

Dreamer growled half-heartedly, _just let me mope you useless reptile._ Well, just like with the dragon laying on him, there wasn't a lot Dreamer could do to change Vikings without outright fighting over it. The most he could hope to do was stop them slaughtering dragons, who most definitely did not want to be killed for the fun of it, and show them how to get along. But Spitelout would want a few days on Berk before heading off again.

But once those few days were up… he could _finally_ start to make the world a better place…

* * *

Wanderer stretched his wings and yawned, bored of waiting. Long-Paws had a funny definition of "now", as after summoning the Nightstrikers to leave "now" they were _still_ running around collecting things.

The fledgling-alpha pouted as she watched, having been told by the alpha she needed to stay behind. It was logical, she was a sort of sub-alpha and sub-Fish-Legs, so would take care of both their duties while they were gone; whatever they actually did, Wanderer didn't really know or care.

He groaned his boredom, wondering what Dreamer had managed to occupy himself doing, then tilted his head as the Rock-Scale waddled over and growled a pleasant greeting. What had Dreamer said her name was again? Food-Carry? That couldn't be right.

He stood and took a step back, warbling _uncertain,_ when she wagged playfully; she was much rounder and heavier than him. But she waddled away to uproot a nearby stick that was in the ground, and waved it enticingly at him. She tried to swing it out of the way of his lunge, but he was too fast! He tugged on the sturdy wooden length, though it didn't budge at all, and then she tilted her head and he found himself dangling.

_"Meatlug!"_ The name was said scoldingly, and they both looked guiltily over at Fish-Legs, Wanderer still halfway into the air – at least until she dropped it, and him with it. Fish-Legs sighed.

Dreamer trotted up a few moments later and batted his head a few times. "Not play with that," he chastised, grabbing one end and tugging on it, then growled when Wanderer didn't let go.

He tugged harder, and Wanderer tugged back and growled playfully. "No!" Dreamer said as he growled around the stick.

"Yes!" Wanderer shook happily, jostling the stick and Dreamer with the word. He put all his weight into another tug and Dreamer staggered forward before finding his paws again and planting them firmly.

_"– one way – this,"_ Fishlegs mumbled, walking up beside them. A tie-breaker? He didn't need it, he would eventually–

He automatically leaned into a firm scratch on his neck, then collapsed onto his side with a happy groan as it found the sensitive spot behind his jaw. _Hrrr, that not fair…_ But Dreamer was similarly collapsed in front of him, so maybe it was.

_"If you- not do- -thing, can you help – these two –?"_ Fishlegs asked the fledgling-alpha as he picked up the stick.

_"They – playing,"_ she said dejectedly, but happily approached Wanderer and dove right into some blissful scratching around his shoulders and chest. His claws flexed and tensed, but her blunt paws could do him no harm and her broad Long-Paw-claw was dangling uselessly by her side… and he did trust her, to some height. So he stretched out and enjoyed the tiny, soft and blunt claws over his chest.

Dreamer tried to nose his way in on it, but Wanderer swatted at him. He could wait his turn, or find something else to do. He wasn't the one who had been laying around in boredom for half the morning.

The female – he knew her name to be _Astrid_, he just found it difficult to think of her as that – started scratching at Dreamer too, but that meant she was paying less than half of her attention to Wanderer now. He huffed and grabbed the Long-Paw's foreleg, then pulled it back to himself.

She laughed and gave him both paws again, and he flexed and stretched with a purr… only for Dreamer to nudge his head under her paws again.

Wanderer growled and swiped at him – then flipped upright as Dreamer staggered back with a shrill cry of pain.

Had he clipped his eye or something? Wanderer was always sure to be _very_ careful about that, but he'd been distracted… he tried to check him over, but Dreamer turned away and blocked him off with a wing. That wasn't very fair, he had to know it'd been an accident…

Wanderer paced as the Long-Paw checked Dreamer's face, murmuring to herself and then settling down with Dreamer's head on her legs to gently stroke and scratch him. She didn't seem to think he was hurt, and he was starting to purr…

Wanderer tilted his head with a suspicious rumble… and Dreamer gave him a sideways toothy grin. All a ruse! _That eel-sniffer!_ Wanderer paced again with a growl, but the Long-Paw growled a few Long-Paw words at him and then cooed at Dreamer.

This was _very_ unfair. He stalked around in front of Dreamer and silently glared at him from claw-lengths away, but he had his eyes closed and his grin only got wider; his ears and frills also went up in amusement, and promptly received scratches under and between them. _Sss_, Wanderer was going to make him _regret_ this later…

At least it wasn't long later that Fish-Legs announced they were leaving now, _again_, but this time he seemed to mean it. He still didn't mount his Rock-Scale, but he didn't run off to do anything else either, just stood there impatiently as if waiting for something.

There were already the two Nightstrikers, the Rock-Scale, and the Spine-Tail, plus the two Long-Paws. And… a third Long-Paw and his Fire-Scale, who had just made a blustering landing amidst the little gathering outside the tree-den, carrying a bulging not-skin.

Wanderer huffed. This was going to be a long flight…

* * *

"Tha' be it up ahead!"

Fishlegs peered through the afternoon haze at where Spitelout was steering them, spotting a vague outline that could just as easily be land as his imagination. Just went to show how often he'd made this trip, he supposed.

It hadn't been an overly long flight to the unimaginatively named Meathead Islands, about half of the short afternoon. It was sort of difficult to tell how long a flight would take; when currents had no bearing on flight and winds had different effects, there was no strict conversion between sail and wing. Fishlegs estimated dragons to be between five and twenty times faster than boats, depending on the journey and weather.

Five dragons approaching the island would probably not be received well, so Spitelout went on ahead. Fishlegs could see him holding the shield aloft as he descended, and the scramble of defences on the ground.

He winced as Kingstail hovered next to the docks; until they were provided hospitality it would be considered trespass to set foot or paw on the island, but Nadders were not well suited to hovering. Hopefully this could be resolved quickly, and they would need to consider alternatives for future, as deciding whether to give hospitality could often take quite a long time. Maybe some sort of off-shore platform, or an envoy on Gronckle…

It wasn't _too_ long before Spitelout was riding a thermal up to meet them again, and pulled into the formation where they wheeled above the ocean. "We're ter wait the Chief's word, an' been _cautioned_ against flyin' over the island."

"That's fair," Fishlegs agreed. "We're good for a while longer. Aren't we girl?" He scratched the back of the scaly neck in front of him, and Meatlug chattered back happily. Movement caught his eye, the Furies having some aerial fun to pass the time. At least Hiccup would know better than to do any Night Fury dives here, didn't need to go scaring the Meatheads now of all times.

They wheeled for quite some time before a small group approached the docks and stood there. "Well, time ter find ou' wha's wha'," Spitelout said cheerily and nudged Kingstail into a dive.

He again hovered by the docks and presumably spoke with the party, then edged along and set down on a pier. "Guess that means we're good, come on Fishface," Snotlout called over, and Hookfang folded his broad wings to plummet down after him. Fishlegs followed suit, albeit quite a bit slower.

They were regarded warily by maybe forty warriors, all armed with bolas and blades, but the eyes that didn't stick to the enormous Nightmare covering an entire pier by himself were gawking at the Furies.

"Ah know we did get nae as many attacks as Berk, bu' ah know mah dragons," said a large man with a big curly beard, an eye patch, and a tall wooden leg as he stomped forward. "E'sept them ones. An tha' would make them yer Nigh' Furies, no?"

Spitelout nodded to Fishlegs, who cleared his throat. "That's right. The smaller one is Hiccup, and the larger is Toothy." Each Fury nodded at their name, though their eyes remained warily scanning the weapons held ready. Fishlegs had no doubt they would suddenly be well out of range if anyone so much as hefted a bola. "Stoick has told you about them at the Thing, but would you like me to recap anything in particular right now? I can give a more detailed–"

"Yeah," Mogadon rudely cut him off, "yeh can tell me wha' they're _doin'_ here."

"Jus' a frien'ly visit to our allied neighbours," Spitelout said casually. "The Furies are here a'cause they wanted ter be, an' it's no in our interests ter hide them away like secret weapons."

_"Are_ they weapons?" Mogadon asked sceptically.

"No. An' that's wha' we're here ter show you."

The Meathead Chief ran his fingers through his beard as he mulled that over. "Aigh' then. The condition stands, though. Yer dragons must burn their shots in the water afore yer granted access ter my island."

"Hol' on, boyo," Spitelout called over to his son, who had started turning Hookfang around. "Got a spare barrel?" Mogadon eyed him suspiciously, but jerked his head at an aide who ran off and returned with a standard iron-bound barrel. "To the Nightmare, lad," Spitelout told him.

The young man was reluctant to get too close, dropping the barrel and pushing it the last few feet onto the docks, well out of range of any claws or teeth, before scurrying back. "Hookfang, fill," Spitelout ordered tersely, and Snotlout boggled as his dragon prowled to the barrel and took it in his mouth. There was a gurgling sound, and then he released it and awkwardly edged back.

"Fishface, we are going to have _words_ later," Snotlout growled through gritted teeth. What was he complaining about? He already knew about this.

But Mogadon wasn't paying attention. He was busy staring at the near-full barrel of pure and highly flammable Monstrous Nightmare gel. "A gift," Spitelout said casually. Before the Green Death had been killed the stuff had been extremely valuable, belonging to one of the most dangerous dragons and being notoriously difficult to extract from a corpse. Now, Fishlegs and Spitelout had worked – behind Snotlout's back, it later transpired – to get Hookfang providing a constant supply of it, and it was stockpiled high. This was nothing.

"Tha'… is appreciated," the Chief said slowly, then shook his head and gestured to two of his tribesmen to take it. "Can the others…?"

"Nah, jus' the Nightmare," Spitelout said neutrally as he turned Kingstail and had him burn the water in bursts. Fishlegs did the same, prompting Meatlug to fire her six shots with hisses and clouds of steam.

"An' the Furies," Mogadon said in a low voice.

"They don't have any fire, not yet," Fishlegs explained. "They're too young."

"Tha's a migh'y _convenient_ explanation…" An atmosphere of tension rose, adjusting grips on weapons and shuffling feet, and the Furies slowly spread their wings.

"Ah, er, well, why would we lie?" He was blowing into the sail now, but he had to try. "They're _Night Furies._ If they wanted to use their fire, they'd do so from waaaay up there." He pointed up at the clouds.

"Wha' the boy is _tryin'_ ter say," Spitelout cut in, "is tha' they got a bow an' arrow, an' they jus' walked up ter shake yer hand."

Mogadon ran his fingers through his beard again. "Ah see yer point. Can' say ah like it, bu' ah suppose there's no way ter prove it. Aigh' then. Ah offer hospitality, on the condition tha's already been met, an' tha' the Nigh' Furies 'ave no fire." The unspoken part of that was that if either Fury was caught breathing fire, the lot of them would be killed on the spot and sent straight to Hel. Thankfully, Fishlegs had it on good authority that wasn't possible.

"We accept, on the condition tha' none approach any o' the dragons withou' our consent," Spitelout said carefully. "For their own safety." Mogadon nodded and the tension bled out of the air, both sides of the meeting visibly relaxing, and then the Meatheads parted to allow them access to the island.


	24. Envoy

Meathead Island – or, to be more specific, South Island of the Meathead Islands – was a verdant land. Even the village sported scraggly green trees, some of which had kids climbing through them, and the grass was green and soft.

Dreamer happily bounded around within their circle of influence as it moved through the village, smelling everything he could reach and rolling in particularly green patches. The blades of grass were so soft that most of his scales didn't even notice them, but they pleasantly tickled his wings and underside. He looked forward to being allowed to roam later, there were some out-of-the-way patches of longer grass that looked even softer and more inviting.

He noticed that Wanderer was also avidly sniffing everything, but not nearly as enthusiastically and nor was he enjoying the grass. Dreamer chirped and happily bounded around him, but he just snorted derisively and kept a wary eye.

Hrrr, maybe he would relax later. Dreamer was particularly looking forward to the inevitable feast, as the Meatheads were so named for their culinary prowess involving meat; that was the polite reason, anyway. Even meat bought from them and cooked elsewhere was just better, but it still didn't compare to what they cooked themselves.

At least, that was what everyone else said. He grimaced as he remembered the only time he had been here before, when he'd brought along a harmless little spinning toy he'd made that had, via a series of exceptionally unfortunate circumstances, culminated in a yak charging through the village whilst on fire. That one he truly could not have been blamed for, he thought, but it had only been down to his toy and a mountain of bad luck; it was easier to punish him than misfortune, thus he hadn't even been allowed to attend the feast.

So he was very much looking forward to it now, particularly with his new appreciation of meat.

They were led towards the Great Hall in the centre of the village, though it was strange to consider a wooden structure as such. Every village defended themselves differently, and the Meatheads had commissioned the Lava Louts for slate. It apparently worked for them, at least for this one building, though they hadn't been raided nearly as often as Berk so there was a much lower risk of needing to rebuild it.

It was a tall structure, visible for quite some distance, with the typically tall and steep roof to prevent the build-up of snow, though the slate made it strangely dark. Heavy windows, high up the walls and hinged at the top, were propped open by broad wooden poles.

_"Can't yeh calm 'em a bi'? They're makin' the escort nervous."_ Dreamer turned to see Spitelout talking quietly to Fishlegs as he walked beside Kingstail, keeping a heavy hand on the wary dragon's neck.

_"Can't you calm them a bit?"_ Fishlegs shot back sardonically, walking beside his own dragon._ "They're making the dragons nervous."_ Dreamer stifled his laughter; he probably shouldn't be laughing at that, but hearing Fishlegs build some witty confidence was amusing to no end.

It _was_ a conundrum though, the Meatheads and dragons were making each other increasingly nervous, but that hopefully wouldn't be an issue much longer. Dreamer returned to happily sniffing everything, hoping to offset the tension a bit. The scents were all familiar, that of Long-Paws, leafage, leather, dirt, and so on, but every scent was slightly different. The grass smelled greener, the dirt tangy and wet, the people more pungent. It was also strange to smell bark and leaves, both fresh and rotting, that had fallen from the occasional trees and been scattered around; Berk had barely a shrub in the village itself.

They arrived uneventfully, Spitelout and Mogadon coming to another quick agreement at the threshold, and then Snotlout was told to wait outside. He had to be told what an important job it was, and it _was;_ Dreamer had doubts he was even up to the task should there be a problem, though there shouldn't be. Hopefully. No problem with leaving a bunch of dragons in the middle of a Viking village.

He blinked as the door was shut in his face, abruptly reminding him that he was one of those dragons himself. Wrrr, at least he could keep an eye on Snotlout, though he had to resist the temptation to paw and yowl at the door. Some of this was to be expected, for now.

That didn't mean he had to like it. He grumbled and sat on his haunches, eyeing what was going on in the village.

They had a guard of some dozen warriors, spread around the perimeter of the group, and while their weapons were not in hand they were obviously ready to arm themselves at a moment's notice. Behind them, villagers went about their lives; some of them glancing at the dragons and hurrying past, others hanging around to gawk. There would be time to get to them later, the plan was to stay a week or two.

He took a moment to inspect each of the guards' faces, looking for the telltale signs; twitching of the muscles around the mouth, glancing at the other guards, whether the eyes were tense or wide. Body language, and the communication of raw feelings and intent without spoken words, were becoming so ingrained in him he had started recognising the unconscious, unspoken cues of his former race.

His incredibly sharp eyes were a big part of it though. He could see the twitching nose hair, indicative of flaring nostrils, on one guard some fifteen paces away. He wasn't entirely sure how he was able to discern that as a sign of distrust and aggression from the more curious twitching of the man next to him, but he could.

A squeaky yawn made it laughably easy. Five he instantly assigned red flags to, jaws tense and hands twitching for their weapons at the innocuous sound, but two were showing more signs of curiosity than of aggression. One was between two of the flagged guards, so Dreamer calmly padded up to the other and stood up on his hindlegs just out of axe range.

As expected, the attention of all the guards was onto him the moment he started moving – Hookfang's derisive show of falling asleep was, typically, being misinterpreted – but he was just focused on this one man. No doubt Wanderer would gauge the reactions of the others, wary as he was.

The man he'd approached furrowed his brow in a confused curiosity, and while his axe-hand tensed it didn't twitch. Dreamer flared his frills and tilted his head, wondering what the man would do.

He didn't get to find out, his attention taken by the sound of the heavy door opening behind him.

* * *

The Hooligan Chief had made a lot of claims, ranging from unlikely to downright ludicrous. A dragon the size of a mountain? Such a thing would not have gone unnoticed for hundreds of years. And yet, nobody could deny that right as he'd made that claim, there had been no more raids.

Then there was the matter of the dragons they'd taken in. It was a wise choice to openly admit that from the start, but that was the same for if the claims of peace were truth or lies.

Mogadon was openly suspicious. Trade with Berk had dropped dramatically in the last two years, and now they had a potentially very deadly weapon that could be anywhere almost instantly. They'd left at noon, Spitelout had said! That day! A two-day boat journey reduced to half an afternoon.

He watched the squat boy pull open the big door and call outside. Mogadon didn't like the idea of admitting dragons into his Hall, but nor did he want to be openly hostile to the wildcard that was Berk, at least not for such a small reason.

Two dark shadows stepped inside, the first dragons to see inside these walls since they'd been built. They glanced around curiously, claws clicking on the wood as they walked to the Chief's table where Mogadon sat on his throne, a big but simple seat of solid wood.

The Night Furies weren't offered a seat – that was too much to ask – and sat neatly on the floor off to the side of the table, a casual axe-toss away. They surprised him by bowing their heads slightly, though their eerie green eyes remained on him.

"So. These be Stoick's pet Furies, eh?"

Hands went to hilts as two quiet growls echoed in the empty Hall. "Not pets, no," the squat boy said matter-of-factly, holding a hand towards the dragons to quiet them. "They are intelligent and think like us, these two more than the others. As you may have gathered, they even understand Norse, or enough of it, anyway."

Well, that they understood _something_ was clear, having instantly taken offence. "Wha', then?" He wouldn't voice his other guesses; one insult was enough for now.

The boy, Fishlegs, scratched his temple. "I don't really know how to put it to words. They're considered part of the tribe, but they aren't really." He watched the Furies for a moment. "They say it's convenient. They help out here and there, and don't risk going hungry. It's pretty much the same for us too, their help and companionship is worth a few fish."

_"They_ say? Do no get smart with me, boy." Teaching a few words to an animal was one thing, teaching them to speak back was entirely another.

"Their talk is nae all sounds," Spitelout interjected. "The lad can read it on 'em somehow. Yeh can dig inta tha' later, if yeh want." It wasn't like Spitelout to show anything other than complete composure, but he sounded impatient, and his eyes kept flicking to the door.

Perhaps that wasn't unwarranted, there were dragons sat in the middle of the village; something was bound to happen eventually.

"Aigh' then. Le's forge' the 'ow fer now." Mogadon leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table. "Wha's the real reason yer 'ere?"

"We told you–"

"An 'alf-truth," Mogadon cut the boy off. "Berk fough' off a Berserker armada. Ain't nobody wanna figh' you lot 'less yeh give 'em reason. An' now, of all times. Wha's changed?" He settled his one eye on the Night Furies. "An' wha' der _they_ have ter do with it?"

Fishlegs fidgeted nervously. "Unofficially?" He shared a look with Spitelout, who nodded with a shrug. "He asked to come."

The smaller Night Fury walked forward a few steps, then sat down again.

Mogadon absently ran his fingers through his beard. He had pressed for answers knowing that there was a reason they had had been abstracted, but this was still a little far-fetched. And yet, the dragon was cooperating. Had Stoick himself been here Mogadon would have suspected manipulation of some sort, but this boy, although intelligent, was only speaking his mind.

He hated all this political manoeuvring, thinking in circles like this was giving him a headache. It was far easier to just assume that these Hooligans really were what they were saying, just a peaceful envoy here to improve relations. It wasn't that he didn't trust Stoick, the man was honest to a fault, just that he had clearly been more than a little unstable over the last few years.

And the sort of things an unstable man might turn to… such as some way to control the beasts that had killed his runt of a son. Mogadon wanted to trust, but fantasies were not a luxury a Chief was afforded.

On the other hand, if Berk _could_ control dragons and wanted the Meathead Islands, there wouldn't be a lot stopping them. That simplified things, it was in Mogadon's interests to play along either way.

"Aigh' then. Wha' does it intend on doin' here?"

The Night Fury made a strange mellow sound, catching his attention, then twitched and fidgeted with a few more sounds. "He says, 'I want to show Vikings we don't want to fight. I want to show you how to make peace with… my kind.'"

There was a strange hitch to the way the boy said those last few words, but at this point that could mean anything. Mogadon was even less convinced they were even talking now, there was no way those few sounds communicated that much. "And wha' does it gain by doin' tha'? Nobody ever downed a Nigh' Fury afore 'Iccup."

More fidgeting and mellow barking. "Without constant raids, humans will expand, colonise new islands. It's better if we meet with words instead of swords and claws." Fishlegs scratched his cheek. "It's not an exact translation, but that's the general message." The dragon nodded at him.

That was incredibly insightful, even were it coming from a Viking… Mogadon was still considering it all when both Furies suddenly spun their heads to look back at the doors, ears standing straight up. "Oh man, do I need to get out there?" Fishlegs asked the dragon, then listened to the apparent reply. "Yeah, alright. Erm, sorry Chief, but we should wrap this up before something happens out there. Anything else you want to know? We can go over details when we're settled."

"Ah think ah've got enough ter mull over fer now." He was at least pretty sure they weren't intending on burning the village down in the immediate future. "Ah'll show yer to somewhere yeh can sleep, an' ah think we can clear ou' a barn or somethin' fer yer dragons…"

* * *

Wanderer didn't know how he felt about this. It was so wrong in so many ways, a crazy illogical Long-Paw thing that made absolutely no sense. And yet, he had to admit there was a certain level of genius to putting a wing-prey inside a land-prey, and then that inside a bigger land-prey.

Although, he'd lost some of his appetite after watching _how_ such a thing was achieved.

He wondered what they were going to do with the insides that had been removed to make room. Some of them had been used already, but there was a shallow hollow-tree-thing with a sizeable mound of good meat, the types needed to stay healthy.

_"Toothy, that- not for you,"_ the rock-head chided happily.

Dreamer surreptitiously brushed his side with a wingtip and Wanderer glanced over, quickly catching on and adopting the look; staring up at the female handling the meat with big dilated eyes, frills out a little, wings tucked to his sides, and so on.

Most of the male Long-Paws were immune to such methods, but nearly all the females were highly suggestible, and this one was no exception. She glanced at them, then locked her eyes as if she could not look away, her expression softening and lifting. It took only moments for a few wet organs to be dropped onto the grass and snapped up. It was good to get some now, as the Long-Paws did strange things to them that usually made them unappetising, so they weren't likely to get any later.

Dreamer then apparently decided it would be a good idea to gum his face. Wanderer sat there and endured it in confusion for a moment, then batted him off with an irritated chirp. Dreamer had an approving, mischievous expression, and rolled over to wave his legs in the air.

_"Awww, – cute!"_

That was a word Wanderer understood to mean that they liked him and he was likely to get whatever he wanted, but also that they would watch him as much as to be uncomfortable. Wrrr, though Dreamer didn't seem to mind it.

_"–, they – fast-, strong- dragon –,"_ the rock-head said in a low hum, gesturing to the Nightstrikers. _Hrph_, of course they were the strongest and fastest _'dragon'_, whatever that meant. The rock-head earned no respect for noticing the obvious, but Wanderer _did_ appreciate the praise, flaring his wings a little and holding himself high.

Dreamer huffed and rolled to his paws. "He say good things about us for make himself sound good."

"What?" Wanderer responded with a low, surprised bark. "That not make sense. He say we good, why that mean he good?"

"Because…" Dreamer fidgeted, then sighed and started walking to the rock-head. "I stop him, not worry. But he talk like we his."

Wanderer growled angrily at that, but Dreamer had already said he was handling it. Both Long-Paws stopped talking to stare at him, and he met the rock-head's confused gaze levelly. Which allowed Dreamer to walk around behind him and climb onto his back.

Of course, Dreamer had grown many times bigger since the last time he had done that, so really all he was doing was rearing up and draping paws over his shoulders. The unexpected weight staggered the rock-head, but he remained upright with some difficulty.

_"What – you doing!?"_ he barked in _confusion, concern,_ but Dreamer ignored him to knock away the horned thing with his nose. The exclamation became _panic, disgusted,_ as a torrent of drool ran over the fur on his head.

The female laughed uproariously while the rock-head struggled, which was totally futile until Dreamer decided to let him go with a little push. He stumbled forward, then bent over and shook his head and tried to paw the saliva out of his head-fur.

It wasn't as if Dreamer had licked behind his ear or anything, but this Long-Paw seemed to really hate it. Wanderer purred, committing that little tactic to memory for future use.

"We show these Long-Paws we fast?" Dreamer asked mischievously, flaring his wings.

Who needed an excuse? Wanderer leapt into the air by way of reply, and they soared and whipped around on the strong thermals above the nest.

* * *

"Alright there Fishlegs?"

Fishlegs looked up from the crackling fire in the wan light to see Thuggory, a hulk of a teen, approach with a leg of mutton in each hand and very pointedly sit down next to him. The Furies, sat to the side of the fire, looked over in surprise. Some Meatheads had worked up the nerve to wander over and ask some questions or offer food at least, but none were comfortable actually sitting there with them.

"Uh, yeah, actually. Seriously, what _did_ you do to this boar, this is incredible!"

Thuggory grinned at him. "Wouldn' you like to know. Clan secret." He finished off one of the legs and tossed the bone into the fire with a shower of sparks. "Kinda sucks when we go somewhere else and have to eat their _lame_ food though. Ah well. So these are the runt's pet dragons eh?"

Hiccup snorted, then slowly and casually walked into the fire to retrieve the bone, totally unfazed by the tall flames and brightly glowing coals. "…Okay, gotta admit that was pretty impressive," Thuggory allowed.

"Yeah well at least they're not laying in it, they do that too. And I'd be wary speaking ill of the dead, there's no way Hiccup went anywhere but Valhalla after going out like he did." His own sort of Valhalla, in a way.

"So I heard," Thuggory rumbled quietly before tearing into the second leg. He looked annoyed about something. "How big, really, was the thing he killed?"

"Hmm. About as big as that island to the east of The Slice of Death."

Thuggory paused mid-chew, then shook his head. "It's true!" Fishlegs pressed.

"Maybe. Just hard to believe the runt took down something that big."

Fishlegs caught a few words between Hiccup and Toothy, and was reminded of the mauling of Snotlout. "Uhh, you might want to stop calling him that," he advised quietly.

"What?" Thuggory asked with his mouth full. "Runt? He was ain't he?" Toothy's eyes were narrowed at Hiccup, who was ignoring him to chew the bone.

"Maybe he wasn't big or strong, but it isn't a nice term. He made up for it in other ways, evidently." Heh, if only Thuggory knew how strong he was getting now…

"What's he gonna do about it? Once a runt, always a–"

He was cut off by a wing loudly snapping out towards the fire, between Thuggory and Toothy. From where he sat, Fishlegs could see Toothy's bared teeth and narrow eyes; Hiccup, aside from extending his wing, was otherwise ignoring the both of them. "Yeah, more because that 'runt's' 'pet' dragons understand Norse. And they were rather fond of him."

Thuggory scoffed, but Hiccup made eye contact with him and then very loudly cracked the bone he was chewing. "Prove it then," he said to Hiccup. "Go sit in the fire." Toothy chuckled at Hiccup's reply, and Fishlegs snorted but otherwise held his silence. Thuggory looked between them, confused. "Somethin' funny?"

"Maybe… He says he'll sit in the fire after you do."

"…Definitely Hiccup's dragons. At least you got claws to back up that smart mouth." He tossed the remains of the second leg to Toothy, who snapped it out of the air and looked at him in surprise.

Fishlegs was surprised as well. "You seem to be taking the 'talking dragons' part pretty well."

"Yeah, well, that weren't the sort of thing you'd say. You ain't changed _that_ much. An' that one," he pointed at Hiccup, "got somethin' in his eyes. The way he looks at things, like he _sees_ them." The crackling of the fire was the only sound for a few moments. "I dunno, Chiefin' goin' to my head maybe," he mumbled. "At least I'm no crazier than you are."

Toothy chose this moment to loudly crack his bone open and noisily crunch into it.

"Wha' d'ya think, son?" Mogadon asked as he lumbered into the light, waving at other fires as he passed them. It was an interesting way to feast, outside around individual fires, but it was actually quite pleasant, weather allowing. "They full'a smoke or wha'?"

"Spitelout pulled 'imself away from ya then?" Thuggory asked back, taking the whole plate from a passing server and offering some to Fishlegs.

"Aye, did done a runner while ah sprung a leak." He dropped onto the log opposite the Furies, then reached over to snatch a lump of meat from Thuggory. "Bah, let 'im 'ave some fun. 'Tis a night to celebrate!" He hefted the tankard in his hand and drank deeply from it.

"You dragons had enough yet?" Thuggory called over, offering the plate.

Fishlegs and Toothy both scoffed. "They don't get full, their bellies just get bigger." Hiccup responded by widely opening his maw and then loudly snapping his teeth out; it got a small jump out of the Meathead heir, and then some meat was tossed over with a scowl.

Not to be totally outdone by the Chief and heir, other Meatheads began to join the fire until three sides were packed. One brave soul even plopped down next to the Furies, albeit on the other end of the log they sat in front of. Somehow the talk all spiralled into a big retelling of Hiccup's Saga, Fishlegs was no skald but he felt he did the story justice at least. Hiccup only corrected him once, anyway.

True to Fishlegs' word, the Furies just ate anything offered to them and showed no signs of slowing. There was a bit of a "don't waste it on the dragons" attitude, but there was plenty of food to go around even as the night wore on, and eventually even the servers started tossing them things as they made less frequent rounds.

Fishlegs was listening to one of the Meatheads wrap up his story, of a strange and somewhat frantic recent encounter with a Thunderdrum, when there was a sudden and violent storm of movement between the Furies with a few growls and squeaks. Fishlegs jumped a little in surprise, but a few of the Meatheads actually fell off the back of the log they were sat on, including the one sat on their side of the fire.

"What's gotten into you two all of a sudden?" he asked, a bit nervous about having frightened their hosts. Toothy ignored him, and wide-eyed Hiccup was busy having his head pushed into the ground.

The guy telling the story laughed awkwardly and tried to continue, but nobody was listening anymore, and he himself kept getting distracted as Toothy licked at Hiccup. Before long, even he fell into the awkward silence. At first Hiccup just grinned and rolled his eyes, relaxing with a purr, but soon there was another tense scuffle and Hiccup was then thoroughly pinned on his back, looking much less comfortable with the situation.

He squeaked, growled and groaned as Toothy, ignoring the one free paw swatting at his shoulder, went through their odd cleaning routine. Their very thorough and _personal_ cleaning routine; not that Toothy had any modesty whatsoever.

"Think I'm gonna turn in," Thuggory suddenly declared, jolting to his feet and stiffly walking away. The Chief and others murmured similar intentions and made their own swift departures, leaving Fishlegs alone with the dragons. He sat there awkwardly, not wanting to interrupt but not able to just leave them on their own.

Though, it wasn't long before there was another tense scuffle as the dragons parted, Toothy hopping back from wild slashing and baring his teeth in that feral grin that meant they were playing tricks on each other; something Fishlegs had pieced together after seeing it more than a few times.

_"You do that before,"_ Hiccup grumbled as he cleaned his face.

_"Yes, I still need get you then,"_ Toothy warbled consideringly, then leaned back from a few more swats.

"It might have helped your image a bit," Fishlegs offered, catching the attention of both Furies. "I mean, helped show them you're not just deadly killers, at least."

Hiccup let out a low hum. _"Yes, maybe. We should play much next light."_ He yawned widely, those fearsome teeth sliding out as he did so.

"Hey, what do you guys do with shed teeth?" Fishlegs asked, suddenly realising he'd never actually seen one laying around before. He had plenty of the other dragons', to the point they were putting them aside to trade to Johann, but nothing resembling a Night Fury fang.

_"Not shed,"_ Hiccup said lethargically. _"Make sharp in mouth."_ He snapped his teeth in and out a few times, _snick snak snick snak._

"Wait, what!?" Fishlegs crossed the distance in a single step and ran a finger along the gums, though it just felt like a flat, hard surface under the flesh. He cursed the darkness under his breath, as the fire was dying down and–

A growl had him hastily withdraw his hand before the teeth snapped out again; _those_ he could see quite clearly, down to the wicked tapering. "Hey, why did you–" He cut himself off as Hiccup just glared at him, then deliberately worked his mouth and neck. "Oh… Er, sorry… But, can I have a look tomorrow?"

Hiccup harrumphed, then shared a look with Toothy. _"We sleep now,"_ he said to Fishlegs. _"You can look, if get thing for me this night…"_

* * *

The vast array of mixed sounds of the Long-Paw nest, muffled through the thick flat trees of the big and hollow Long-Paw den, drew Wanderer out of a peaceful sleep. It hadn't started peaceful, but at some point during the night Dreamer had thoroughly groomed him to a point he was able to relax.

Dreamer was here, and the Rock-Scale snoring nearby, though placid, was a friendly nest-kin and would fight for him if necessary. He suspected the Spine-Tail lounging near a wall would also fight, but didn't know him quite as well. Between Dreamer's ministrations and his full belly, his remaining unease had eventually given way to exhaustion.

He groped around himself for Dreamer, but found only the hard dirt ground of the den. There was a strange smell in the air, the same as on the things Fish-Legs had brought for Dreamer but much stronger, he must already be up. With a wide yawn, he blearily pulled himself to his paws and looked around, quickly locating the Nightstriker a short distance away. He was hunched over in a way that looked depressed and forlorn, but that Wanderer knew just meant he was intently focused on something in his Dreamer way.

After a satisfying stretch, Wanderer padded over and sniffed at one of the hollow things arrayed around Dreamer, then gagged and pawed at his nose. He had no idea what it was, but it smelled _bad_. What could Dreamer want with it?

In front of Dreamer was some of the soft and thin bark Long-Paws liked to make lines on, but these lines were colourful instead of the usual black. He tilted his head with a curious warble, watching Dreamer use his claw in various ways to spread the stinky stuff around. He recognised a tree, a Long-Paw den, and a Nightstriker curled up on some grass, but the rest were just blotches of colour to his eyes. It looked like he'd done better at some than others.

Dreamer grinned at him and gave him a nuzzle with a purr, apparently finished with what looked like another tree, then started on another. "I show Long-Paws I can do this. Show we smart."

"Show _you_ smart. I not can do that."

"You smart also."

Wanderer snorted. He held no illusions about the difference in their intelligence, but Dreamer swatted at him. "You smart! You fly very good, much better than me."

"I fly much _more_ than you," Wanderer grumbled at him.

"Yes, I do this much also."

That made a sort of sense, Wanderer supposed, he couldn't really argue with it. Which only proved his own point, really, as Dreamer would probably be able to.

The den-mouth opened, letting much light inside, and Fish-Legs walked in. He stared at Wanderer a long moment, then glanced at Dreamer and rubbed his head with a quiet laugh. _"– that- why."_

"Yes," Dreamer responded without looking up, still making lines. "This good."

Fish-Legs made a somewhat disbelieving noise. _"What- – with these?"_ he asked, nudging one of the things that had been set aside.

"Not can see those," Dreamer explained, then gestured to the five in front of him; grass-colour, sky-colour, blood-colour, one that was simply darkness, and one that was just pale. "Only can see these." He took one of the further ones in his claws and set it nearby. "What colour this?"

_"Yellow."_

Dreamer nodded. "I see it grass-colour." He pointed to a hollow-thing in front of him.

Curious, Wanderer peered into the grass-colour hollow-thing, trying not to take in too much of its scent, then the _yellow_ one. They smelled quite different – both still bad – and the latter was much lighter, but they _were_ the same colour. Long-Paws saw it differently? That was beyond comprehension.

Fish-Legs made a surprised noise. _"I – why you – grass yellow."_ Dreamer made a confused sound and began looking over his lines again, and Fish-Legs noticed Wanderer tilting his head in confusion at the hollow-things. _"That- 'paint'."_ He pointed to the flat bark in front of Dreamer. _"That- – 'painting'."_

That might be a useful word, Dreamer did a lot of _painting_ with sand and sometimes dirt and in other things. He nodded in the Long-Paw way to show he understood.

The Rock-Scale waddled over and gave Fish-Legs a big lick, happily receiving some scratches, then Fish-Legs and Dreamer talked for a bit about what they were doing next. Something about showing the _painting_ later.

Fish-Legs opened the den-mouth again and let them out into the morning light. "You want fly?" he asked.

Both Nightstrikers snapped their wings out in response and waited for him to climb onto his Rock-Scale. "No sound-sight," Dreamer reminded him, and Wanderer huffed in acknowledgement.

They leapt into the air and soared on the thermals rising from the nest in the warm light. After a brief but necessary trip over the sea they swooped and flipped and spun and just generally showed off while Fish-Legs hovered around them and called if they ventured too far. Many Long-Paws below even stopped walking around to stare up at them. Wanderer levelled next to Dreamer and stared _pleadingly_ at him.

Dreamer rolled his eyes, but didn't protest, and Wanderer grinned happily as he folded his wings and dropped away. He snapped them back out near the ground and swooped back into the air, then folded everything to arc through it as little more than dead weight in a slow backflip. He threw his wings open again to pull up, narrowly missing the big tree-den in the middle of the nest, then held them in close to corkscrew back into the sky.

He totally let loose, showing off absolutely everything he could think of and pushing his whole body to its very limit. Finally, wings burning with exertion and chest heaving, he pulled up and levelled out next to Fishlegs. The awe in his expression was very satisfying.

"I not see all that before," Dreamer warbled incredulously as he levelled next to him. "You fly very good."

Wanderer did a happy roll in the air before they coasted back down to the ground. Some of the Long-Paws were making unnervingly loud noises, roaring and slapping their paws together loudly, but Dreamer and Fish-Legs didn't appear nervous about it so he tentatively followed them down to land in a clearing.

Dreamer nodded slightly at the one-eyed alpha, the _Chief_, as he approached them. The _Chief_ gave Wanderer a strange look, but then shook his head and smiled at him. Most of the words he was saying were new and unfamiliar, but he spoke _impressed, respect._

Four Nightstriker ears went straight up at the mention of _breakfast_, the word for eating at the start of the light. Why they needed a different word for that over eating at any other time was beyond Wanderer, but apparently, they did. He bounded ahead and paced impatiently at the mouth of the big flat-tree-den while he waited for Fish-Legs to catch up, then followed his nose to the smell of food. He shouldn't be hungry after eating so much the night before, but his stomach pawed at him regardless.

A young female Long-Paw brought out a tray for them shortly afterwards, staring at Wanderer for most of the time. He tilted his head at her, and she hid her mouth behind a paw before leaving. Well, it was of little consequence compared to the pile of food in front of him – eggs! When was the last time he'd had eggs? He snapped one up with a purr, they were one thing he absolutely agreed that was better to have cooked.

The two of them made short work of everything set in front of them, then were lazing around waiting for Fish-Legs when the rock-head approached.

_"…Fishlegs, what- you do – Toothy?"_

He perked his ears at his Long-Paw name and sat up to regard the rock-head.

_"-not – me, they – play –"_ Fishlegs replied.

Wanderer blinked and stared between them, but they kept talking in words he didn't know yet. "What they saying?" he asked Dreamer.

But Dreamer just shrugged and continued gnawing on the bone that'd come with the food, his frills twitching in an amusement he was trying to hide. Wanderer eyed him suspiciously, then gave himself a thorough shake just in case. Nothing felt unusual.

The sub-alpha poked his head in the door and barked at them, and Fishlegs gulped down the last few bits and led them outside.

"What we do this light?" Wanderer asked.

"Hrrr, we show scale-wing-hunters can do things. We maybe fly more. Show we smart." He glanced around. "Nest-alpha, sub-alpha, here now."

As long as the light would be interesting. The things Dreamer came up with always seemed to be one of three things; utterly boring, wildly exciting, or recklessly dangerous. So far it didn't seem they would be flying for their lives, so he was just hoping it wouldn't be boring.

The Long-Paws were all gathering and talking, but this nest's sub-alpha was looking at him strangely. Wanderer glared back at him, he'd been the one insulting Dreamer the night before. But now, he was looking at Wanderer in confusion. _"Why – his ears yellow?"_ He asked Fish-Legs.

Wanderer barked in surprise, stood an ear out to the side where he could just about see it _wasn't_ the expected black, then tackled Dreamer with a snarl.

* * *

"A dragon paintin'. Now ah seen everythin'."

Fishlegs considered telling Chief Mogadon that he could also write, but that wasn't common knowledge even on Berk. Granted, this was also sort of cheating as it wasn't so much the _dragon_ Hiccup that had learned, but nobody had to know that.

Hiccup sat in front of a makeshift easel, basically just a board propped up, using a long claw in inventive ways to smear paint over the parchment. Fishlegs had no idea how he managed it, it all just looked like wonky lines and smears to him, until Hiccup finished with the area and moved on and it suddenly resolved into Stormfly's head; albeit with all the colours slightly wrong.

Toothy gave up trying to claw the paint off his ears, leaving a haphazard mess of black lines through the yellow, and stalked over to glare at Hiccup and what he was doing. It wasn't long before he got the obvious idea for retribution.

"…Hokay, _now_ ah seen everythin'," Mogadon corrected himself, as Toothy painted bright green patterns on Hiccup's wing. Hiccup didn't seem to mind, and even stretched it out for better access. The patterns were just random lines and occasional dots, but as Fishlegs looked there was a sort of evenness to it that was aesthetic in its own way. Hiccup finished the painting while his other wing was being painted, then inspected himself with an amused rumble.

"Hey, hold your wings out for me," Fishlegs asked, pulling a notebook from a pocket, then quickly sketched the patterns. While he did that, Toothy grumbled some more, then dunked his paw in the green and pressed it onto Hiccup's head. There was some grumbling and swatting, then Fishlegs had to finish the rest from memory as they tussled.

That gave him an idea, he should record paw prints in the new Book of Dragons… It would be useful for categorisation, and recognising the tracks of each dragon. He'd need to get a mould of a paw and then sketch it, except maybe for Terrors…

Hiccup got a paw in the red paint and subsequently a few stripes over Toothy, which caused him to hesitate. Toothy inspected the stripe down his wing with an unreadable expression… then perked happily and held it out. Hiccup blinked, then happily painted more defined and symmetrical shapes over him.

"Bi' o' a waste o' paint though," Mogadon grumbled unhappily.

"Well, not to them," Fishlegs replied. "And I'm learning things too, so not really." Mogadon knew better than to tell him what to do with it after Fishlegs had been traded it for promised labour. It was valuable, or at least not cheap, but they'd been intending on showing off some of the dragons' skills anyway so really they weren't losing anything. And it'd turned out over half the pots were useless anyway, as Hiccup apparently couldn't see them? That was weird to think about. He had a whole sheaf of tests to go through when they got time.

But that was a task for another day. "Anyway, so what do you think of them now? Not exactly the scary demons of legend, right?"

Mogadon combed his beard with his fingers. "Ah don' know wha' ter think ye'… bu' simple beasts they ain'…" He actually sounded a bit frightened, but having one's worldview turned on its head was a wild experience; Fishlegs would know.

"Definitely not," he agreed. "I think we're done here though. You can keep the painting, by the way. Let's go find Snotlout to escort these guys, unless you're okay with letting them-"

"No," Mogadon firmly cut him off, fixing him with an intense stare of his one eye. "They ain' ter be left unattended."

"Okay," Fishlegs said placatingly, holding his arms up. "It was just a suggestion."

* * *

The stranger beheld the island as he approached, a huge rock that reached for the highest of clouds in its majesty. He'd been here once before, but it was still impressive; nowhere else in the Archipelago could one get an idea of just how much _land_ there was all in one place.

He idly adjusted the sail, feeling for that point it pulled back the hardest, to speed him along the choppy water. It wasn't a big boat, but enough for one man to spend on for a few days at sea, barring any particularly nasty weather. Still, just passing through the middle of spring as things were, it was a fine time to be out.

He was no Viking himself, not really, but knew their ways. He approached the dock slowly, respectfully, and tossed a loop of rope over a cleat to pull the boat in, but didn't try to climb up.

"What business do you have here?" the slender girl standing above him asked. She had a head of tidy blonde hair and held herself proudly – possibly a little _too_ proudly, given her youth – and looked down her nose at him. Somehow, the Deadly Nadder standing further along the docks lent her a presence beyond her stature.

"I hear you have mastered the art of working with dragons," the stranger said carefully. "Personally, I am fascinated with them, and would learn what you would teach me. Unfortunately, they do not seem much to like me in return." He shook his head. "I have some skills in most things to offer."

"Oh?" The girl made a short motion, and the Nadder hopped and flapped over to perch next to her, overlooking the comparatively tiny boat. "So this doesn't bother you at all?"

He stared up at the dragon with wide eyes as it calmly regarded him. "Never in all my wildest dreams…" A dramatization, but he couldn't deny it, the control they held over the beasts was incredible! He extended his hand up towards it, and it calmly leaned forward to sniff him–

The telltale narrowing of the eyes had him hastily withdraw his arm before teeth bit down on the air it had been occupying a moment before, and he stumbled back into the opposite side of the boat. While he was accustomed to general hostility from them, _this_ was something on another level! He would need to be careful around this one…

"Stormfly!" the girl shouted, sidling in front of the dragon and practically hanging out over the boat in the process. "What's gotten into you!?" The Nadder hissed and paced the dock, trying to get around the girl, but she moved to remain in front of it and it didn't seem to realise it could just go through her. "Thor's hammer, you weren't kidding about them not liking you. _Stormfly!"_

The Nadder, Stormfly, stopped pacing and stared at the girl. "Calm down girl, it's okay. Go take a break." She made a motion with her hand, then again more firmly when the dragon just hissed at her. Finally, it relented, flying up to perch on a nearby ledge up on the big cliff that separated the village from the sea, though it remained tense and watchful.

The stranger calmly pulled himself back up and straightened his simple tunic. "No harm done, learned that lesson the hard way," he said with a grin, holding up the hook he had instead of a right hand.

"You're a puzzle, and I know someone who loves puzzles. He's not here right now, but I'm sure we'll find something to keep you occupied in the meantime. Come on up." She offered a hand – her left, as he couldn't take her right – and he quickly secured the boat a bit more permanently before taking it and clambering up. "What's your name?"

A wide grin slipped across his face, which he hid behind a gesture of straightening his long, thin moustache, as Astrid started leading him up towards the village. "They call me Aldin the Honest Farmer."


	25. Reception

**_A Quick__ Note_**

_For those who have seen the series but not read the books, the original Alvin was _not_ outcast from Berk, and as there's a lot I don't like about franchise Alvin I'm using the book version almost in his entirety. So there's no chance of anyone recognising him._

* * *

Astrid was going to have _words_ with her dragon later. What had _that_ been about? Someone floats in and she just attacks him out of nowhere!? Even now she was flitting from house to house as they moved through the village, keeping a wary eye on them.

They couldn't have met before… could they? Astrid eyed the man's long sleeves… There was no way he was from the Archipelago, Vikings wore no sleeves until they were at risk of frostbite. Cold encouraged muscles to work for warmth, and the body reacted by building fat, resulting in the traditional burly build. This man was tall and thin, and obviously unaccustomed to such traditions. There was also his accent, which sounded foreign.

No, she couldn't know him. Before partnering with Astrid, Stormfly had been a raider for the Green Death, and Astrid certainly had never met him. She shot a glare at the Nadder.

Normally she would take the man to Stoick for at least an introduction, but today was Gripe Day so he was liable to be tied up until much later. Spitelout was out visiting the Meatheads, so Gobber it was. "Hey, Gobber!" she called as she neared the forge.

There was some stern but muffled words at his apprentice before he appeared at the counter. "Oh, 'ey Astrid. What brings you 'ere on this fine day?"

"New guy floated in, wants to learn about dragons. Need a witness."

Gobber eyed the man curiously, then adjusted his trousers around his enormous waist and walked around to the door. "Awright, ah got the time, not much ter do these days. Other than train mah brick of an apprentice." A muffled shout came from inside. "Yeh you 'eard me! Anyway, le's get this over with."

"Just need to check your back for brands, make sure you're not Outcast," Astrid explained to Aldin. "Turn around and lift your shirt."

The man's eyebrows went up in surprise – definitely foreign – but he shrugged and complied. His back was smooth and brand-free, there were a few scars but none that could have obscured the telltale mark.

"Eh, 'e looks awright to me," Gobber said mildly. "So wha' brings yeh to the ass-end o' the world? Surely not ter lose s'more limbs." He gestured to the Aldin's polished prosthetic with his own, currently sporting a pair of long tongs.

"Indeed, I'd rather learn how to _keep_ them. But I bear the dragons no ill will for taking the one. It's in their nature, after all."

Astrid scoffed. "It used to be. Sort of. There was a big dragon… it's complicated. Most dragons are pretty friendly now, once they know you don't mean them any harm." She shot another glare at Stormfly. _"Most_ of the time." Maybe that was the problem? Stormfly thought he was going to hurt her? No, that couldn't be it, he'd been reaching up and from low, unsteady ground; no way he could have done anything aggressive even if he'd wanted to. She'd leave the 'why' to Fishlegs, he was much better at that sort of thing.

"Awright, ah'll be 'ere if ya need me," Gobber said and waddled back into the forge. "Gah! What're ya doin' ya lightnin' blind skiv weasel!? Ge' tha' ou' o' there!"

The sounds of Gobber berating his apprentice faded into the distance as they worked their way across the village, towards the no-clan huts. Olga was a true Hooligan, but the last of her clan and past the point of expanding it, so took in every wayward soul who needed a place to stay. Not everyone got along, but she ran a tight ship, claiming the task trivial compared to running a kitchen for hundreds of Vikings.

It was mid-morning, so she would be done with breakfast and have returned to the big common room to relax with her knitting. Something that came with running a tight ship was apparently being totally predictable, but that just meant everyone always knew where to find her.

Astrid knocked on the door to her house, and let herself in at the curt admission. The big woman sat in her usual chair by the fire, warming her feet on the hearth with a tightly knit garment sitting in her lap. Olga inspected them with a frown, her gaze lingering over Aldin as he followed Astrid in.

She hummed in amusement. "More 'ands fer the deck? Where ya from lad?"

Aldin was peering at an old shield on the wall, hand clasping hook behind his back; the way he held himself suddenly reminded Astrid of some sort of bird of prey. "Nowhere, really," he said casually. "Been a drifter all my life, sailing here and there. Never found a place that felt right."

Olga made a low sound of amusement. "Not sure 'bout the place, but Hooligans're good people. We'll see." She set aside her knitting and heaved herself from her chair. "C'mon, le's find yeh somewhere ter sleep."

"Thanks Olga, holler if you need anything," Astrid said as she exited the house, leaving them to it. Now, to have that _talk_ with Stormfly…

She looked around, but the dragon wasn't on any of the rooftops. She whistled, but no Nadder descended from the sky. She loudly and angrily demanded her dragon come to her. No Stormfly.

Astrid threw her arms into the air and gave up, storming off to work off some of her frustration in the forest. That dragon had better not do anything rash in the meantime.

* * *

Flitting from den to den, watching, always watching. A vile predator had slithered into the nest, and a Spine-Tail was well suited to skewer it before it could make off with any hatchlings.

She watched as her Long-Paw led it into the nest and now into a den, blind to its greedy eyes and predatory gait. But it was its scent, the scent she remembered layered over a tortured Nightstriker fledgling, that had her spines rippling along her tail. It was a scent that brought pain and misery.

Powerful legs took her in a long loop around the big den, keeping distance by leaping and flapping across the surrounding dens. She moved silently, swiftly, focused in her hunt.

But, she realised, she was hunting a hunter. She needed to be cautious. She slowed her pace and kept low and hidden to complete her loop of the infested den, but found only the one entrance.

Hunters were tricky prey, she needed to keep moving, stay unpredictable. Her Long-Paw called summons, but she'd been the one to let it in… What was important was ridding the nest of this predator.

The sky-fire burned higher in the sky, but there could be no relaxing. She would pace this tainted den as long as she needed to… but doubt began to set in. So much time had passed since it had entered the den, she had not seen it leave but she could no longer be sure it was still there.

Her sense of danger expanded from this small den to encompass the entire nest. It could be anywhere, nowhere was safe. She became skittish about all the sounds around her, and her wary eyes looked every which way.

The Nightstriker fledglings were safe, not in this nest. She didn't need to worry about them. But, her Long-Paw was little more than a fledgling herself, mature enough to mate but not yet adult. She could be in danger.

She jumped straight up and flapped her agile wings to catch the air, then flew swiftly towards the forest. Her Long-Paw liked to flick her heavy claw at trees when she was agitated, and she'd definitely sounded agitated. A quick scenting of the treeline confirmed this, and from there it was easy to follow the salty Long-Paw scents they sometimes scattered around. Though she was sure to remain wary, these familiar trees no longer felt safe either.

It was even easier to follow the sounds, when they could be heard. An aggressive call, an impact, then a splintering and wrenching sound, over and over. She felt proud of her Long-Paw, who pushed her Spine-Tail to do nonsensical things but pushed herself to do them more. Whatever it was accomplishing, she took her own share of the burden despite her small and frail body.

_Bitter, angry,_ her Long-Paw said as she came into sight, then heaved her heavy claw into a distant tree, striking it precisely in the middle. She hissed her agreement in response, warily looking around for those greedy eyes. At least her Long-Paw seemed to have seen sense, even if she did not look wary herself.

_Frustrated,_ her Long-Paw continued to chitter and growl. "You attack him why?" she asked suddenly.

Quills went up in confusion, rattling against each other. She didn't know how to respond to that. "You attack him why?" the Long-Paw repeated.

Long-Paws thought in strange ways… maybe she wanted a more specific reason. "Danger for fledglings," and a warning hiss for good measure.

Her Long-Paw leaned forward a little in a way that meant she didn't understand. "Why?" she persisted.

"Hurt fledglings," she hissed back angrily.

"Fledgl-ing what?"

Her Long-Paw didn't know what a fledgling was? Krrah, she was still learning to talk… "You fledgling," she said, gesturing with a wing.

"Fledgling?" the Long-Paw asked, gesturing to herself. "He not hurt me!"

A step backwards, flaring wings with a warning hiss. The big, heavy claw in the Long-Paw's paw was angled to strike, and to strike at _her_. "Hurt fledglings, danger," she repeated anyway; anyone else would find themselves regretting behaving like this, but she liked her Long-Paw, and wanted her approval…

Her Long-Paw made a frustrated noise and heaved the big claw through the air, striking a tree off to the side. This behaviour did not need to be put up with, however much respect had been earned. She took to the air with an angry squawk, hopping off a branch to break through the canopy, and flapped back to the nest. She would hunt this predator herself.

* * *

There were two tricks to getting either Vikings or children to like you. Alvin was dealing with Viking children, so they should be doubly effective.

The first was to quantify competition.

"Four and a half," he announced. Really, it should be five-and-thirty, but the two rules with this trick were 'bigger is better' and 'keep numbers below ten'. This _also_ applied to both children and Vikings.

"Ha!" the child shouted, tossing the axe into the pile. "You only got three!"

"Three is better than four!" the target of his boasting argued.

"No is not!"

"Four is bigger than three," Alvin confirmed. Doubly effective, maybe, but twice as much work… "Have another go at it. Ready?" The kid scrambled to his feet. "Go!" He knew for a fact this kid was faster, so the one now sprawling over the scraggy grass to catch his breath had probably cheated and grabbed the axe from somewhere other than the designated storehouse. That was a perfectly acceptable tactic, of course; one with honesty had to be stronger to best one without it.

The Deadly Nadder he was keeping in the edge of his vision, crouched in the shadows between two buildings, took a slow step forward. Alvin gave it a sideways look and patted the nearest kid on the back with his hook. It stepped back again.

"Keep telling us how you got your ticking thing!" The voice was echoed by a chorus of agreements and pleas.

"Alright then," Alvin said with a smile. The second trick to working with children or Vikings – or both – was to lie. Spin crazy impossible tales and the ones who believed looked up to you, and the ones who didn't ignored you. Both were useful. "So I stormed through the big doors… and inside was a giant hall! Fit for a tribe of jötunn! I bravely sallied forth, looking for treasure… but instead… I found… a giant… snake!"

Half the kids gasped.

"You said it was an evil dragon!"

"Nuh uh, it was a hydra!"

"A giant snake," Alvin repeated, ignoring the objections, then drew his sword – awkwardly, for he was sat down – and held it high. "'To Valhalla!' I shouted, and charged the evil creature! _SNAP!_ With one bite, he ate everything except my hand…"

"You _died!?"_ one kid exclaimed incredulously.

"If he ate everything _but_ your hand, why is only your hand missing?" another, older kid asked smugly. "You should be missing…"

What an amusing thought process to watch. "I daresay if I were just a hand telling this story, it would be far less interesting." The kids laughed. "No, what happened was I was _inside_ the snake, and my hand was outside… But would that stop a Viking?"

"No!"

"No indeed! I was down a hand, which was still holding my sword, and inside the beast smelled like Stoick's bum-" That was met with uproarious laughter, and he cast a wink at the amused but disapproving look of the big woman overseeing him. "-but I still had one hand, and a trusty dagger! So I started cutting my way out.

"Now, if you have ever tried cutting your way out of something, you'll know it's hard to know which way you're going. By absolute luck, I cut all the way to its _heart._ Except… it didn't have one!" He lifted the ticking thing, a thick gadget the size of his palm, by its chain. It spun slowly as it dangled from his hook. "Instead of a heart, it had a _ticking thing._ So I ripped it out, and cut my way free during its dying throes."

"Was there any treasure?"

"Piles of it! But I kept the ticking thing as a memento… and to remind myself to never get eaten by a snake." And speaking of the ticking thing… Six and a half minutes to run halfway down the village, grab an axe, and run back up with it. That wasn't bad at all. "Three and a half," he called over to the kid hauling himself up the hill. "Better, but not as good as four and a half."

"Enough games," their minder announced with a grateful nod at Alvin. "Put all those weapons away and come practise your runes." Her words were met with a chorus of groans. "If you make me impatient you won't be allowed to play with the ticking thing tomorrow." _That_ got them moving.

Tomorrow… Alvin considered that as he eyed the shrinking pile of weapons as they were taken into the _conveniently_ close storehouse, and then glanced at the Nadder watching from the shadows. An insurance wrapped in a safety under the cover of a gesture. He would need to keep this up a few more days at least. Easy enough, this 'Aldin' persona had no real pitfalls to avoid; he nearly hadn't even bothered to change his name, but there was no reason to raise suspicion from what Heather had told them of him.

It was a simple matter to move with the group of children and slip away amidst the maze of buildings. As long as he moved faster than it tracked him until he found some other form of safety, he would be fine.

* * *

The darkness had a tempting call about it this night, an energy to the air and a tingling in the ground. Dreamer only needed a glance to know Wanderer felt it too. They were both practically buzzing.

Of course, the Chief's word held them to the barn; outside of it, they were to be escorted by both a Hooligan and a Meathead at all times. Working the scepticism and prejudice out of Mogadon was going quite well actually, but the growing paranoia he expressed every time he looked at them was unexpected, and Dreamer didn't know how to handle it yet.

So he was being a good little dragon, locked in the barn where they'd been told to stay. The stifling, smelly, deafeningly quiet barn…

Dreamer snorted as he loped through the forest with Wanderer. _As if._ Sneaking out had been practically expected of him as Hiccup, as the alternative had been to spend literal days cooped up inside; enough to drive anyone mad, even him. Stoick really only had himself to blame.

And who wouldn't want to be out? A sliver of sky-ice amongst the uncountable sky-sparks in the majestically clear sky, an invigorating chill to the caress of the wind, a hallow quality to the expansive silence of night. He also had to acknowledge the exhilaration of sneaking out, giving his stride a frantic glee.

Their gait was swift and silent, laughably easy across the flat terrain. They ran for what felt like half the night, but also somehow no time at all. The sky-sparks told him it was still early, however, when Wanderer bounded to a stop to nose at a trail. Boar, Dreamer recognised when he scented it himself.

Wanderer's hopeful expression turned disappointed when Dreamer cast a wary glance back to the Meathead village, and they moved on; sneaking out was one thing, stealing wild game and leaving evidence was another. Besides, it wasn't long before they crossed the trail of some rabbits, which were a _far_ more appealing hunt.

The soft ground under his paws, the way his pounding strides violated the tranquil silence, the crisp and clean air rushing through him, he tore after the rabbit in a giddy, frenzied chase. The quarry was faster, but just barely, and with the two of them it wasn't long before he bore down on it with claws and teeth and a crackling snarl.

The critter squeaked as its life was abruptly cut short, and Dreamer rolled to a stop with it hanging limply in his teeth, fur tickling his mouth with his heavy panting. As Wanderer approached, he dropped it and rolled onto his back, revelling in the post-hunt simmer of achievement, and just how _soft_ the ground was here.

There was only one rabbit between them, which Wanderer picked up and prompted him to take his share. There was a _hopeful, pleading_ gaze in his expression… Dreamer wasn't really hungry, so he just huffed and rolled in the grass. A happy warble preceded crunching and tearing.

Not hungry… And yet, he'd been desperate for that hunt… for the kill.

His mood instantly soured, and he rolled to his paws. What had been the point then, if not for food? Had he really just killed something for the _fun_ of it!?

He curled the base of his tail forward and sat back on it, then looked at his paws, really _looked_ at them. Rounded and robust, with four 'digits', hard and sharp. Five flat, pale pads on each, which felt very warm but very pleasant when held against the ground or breeze. The paws were connected to thick, sturdy wrists with short fins running down the backs.

He wasn't about to fall into another rejection of his body, but… sometimes it caught him off-guard just how ruthlessly efficient it all was, right down to the tiny fins on his head, legs, and tail. Right down to the instincts that drove him to hunt, to _kill_, to keep himself strong and independent.

A croon touched with concern sounded to his side, and Wanderer gave his shoulder a brief nuzzle. He nuzzled him back with a purr; this wasn't anything for _either_ of them to worry about. The rabbit was food, it had a quick death and was eaten. Its life had provided experience, and its death, sustenance. It wasn't a pointless kill.

He dropped forward and stretched, flexing his claws into the grass and arcing his back. _Mrrr,_ he wanted to find somewhere warm and cozy to snuggle into, ideally with a view of the sky, though anywhere but the barn would cause problems. Oh well.

Wanderer hummed mildly, then scurried his way up a tree and watched Dreamer from above. He recognised Dreamer wanted to return to their 'den' to sleep, and flitting between the branches as Dreamer trotted along below was just his way of burning off his extra energy on the way back.

But partway back, a rancid scent lingered in the air. It wasn't so much on the wind as permeating it, a pungent smell that seemed to stick to the area. He immediately recognised it, and it pierced his heart, but he had to see.

A _concerned, uncertain_ croon sounded above, but Dreamer ignored his friend as he tracked the scent. Ignoring this would not make it go away.

It took time to find the source, but finally Dreamer was staring into the sightless eye sockets of a Nadder corpse, a few weeks dead if he had to guess. It had been dragged here, contributing to his difficulty finding it, to a small clearing through which he could clearly see the sky above. A warning, to any dragon who thought the clearing a good place to land.

It wasn't a pretty sight. All its spines, quills, and hide had been removed, and not gently. The air was heavy with rot and death, and even the grass around the corpse seemed sick.

He doubted the poor thing had attacked first. Had the Meatheads surprised it, or had it been curious about them? It didn't matter, really. Once he got them familiar with dragons, seeing them as more than just a nuisance, this would stop. Probably. Hopefully. He might need to lean on Johann to stop buying the pieces.

Yes… Create a demand for life, and cut off the demand for death, a simple and sturdy plan. But it hadn't helped this poor creature.

He bayed sadly to the sky on the Nadder's behalf, promising his efforts would stop this foolishness. Wanderer, now beside him, added his own mournful tone.

They had to leave it there, there wasn't anything they could do for it. At least it would serve as a warning for now, exactly what the heartless Vikings wanted, though in Dreamer's mind the message spoke far louder than intended; here there are monsters.

But it wasn't their fault either… they didn't know of any other way. Yet.

The village was quiet and deserted, save for the guards doing their rounds. Easy to avoid, as long as they kept their eyes hidden from the torches. They reached the barn without issue.

Though, looking at the door, Dreamer realised a bit of a problem. The latch, an iron bar loosely nailed to one door that hooked into a loop on the other, was on the outside. It took him a minute to puzzle out the solution, which was to simply do what he'd done to get out but in reverse. He opened the door and ushered Wanderer in, then held his tailfin against the edge to rest the latch on. Walking forward and pulling it with his tail, the door closed with his tailfin poking out the gap between them, allowing him to lower the latch into the loop.

Wanderer purred from a very inviting niche in the big pile of hay that took up one corner of the barn, and Dreamer trotted over to nestle himself up against his friend. A paw lifted to pull him in, and the arrangement quickly devolved into a tangle of limbs. He had paws around his neck, lightly kneading and scratching his shoulders to his contented groans, and he was wrapped in wings while one sort of covered Wanderer.

Several rounds of fidgeting and kneading later, Dreamer's tired body was more interested in the ridiculously comfortable warmth than the pointless fussing of his mind. He would fix things; it was only a matter of time.

* * *

"Astrid, wha's go' into yer Nadder, lass?"

The familiar voice cut through Astrid's focus as the blacksmith waddled towards her, and she cast another glance around herself before shaking her head. "Wish I knew. I've barely seen her in days."

"Yeh mean apart from 'er chargin' through the village half the day?"

"Maybe she's sick or something… I'm pretty close to sending the twins to get Fishlegs, I'm really worried."

Gobber scratched his enormous stubbly chin and tucked his hook under his elbow. "Yeh gotta be desperate ter consider _tha'._ Can yeh nae talk to 'er? Though' tha' was somethin' yeh could do."

Astrid grimaced. "A little. Talking about the now is easy, 'do this', 'do you want that', 'I'm hungry'. Whatever this is, it's more complicated, and… Fishlegs seems to have taken his books with him."

"After 'e was told not to," Gobber muttered in a tone that said he would have some stern words for when the group returned. Fishlegs of course didn't really need his notes, and taking them was a needless risk; it was strange because he'd agreed with all that, but there wasn't another explanation. He must have changed his mind at the last moment or something.

"Yeah. And his shorthand is nonsense, so I can't even read his notes. Just…" She growled in frustration. "This had to happen _now,_ of course. Every time something happens, there's something to stop us from dealing with it properly."

"No' really. Remember when 'Ookfang 'ad tha' busted tooth? We jus' asked 'im wha' was wrong an' 'e told us. Can yeh imagine if we could no understand 'im? We might'a assumed 'e'd gone mad or somethin'. Might'a taken all day ter work i' ou', if we did a' all. Yeh just don' remember the easy stuff.

"Stop telling me things I don't want to hear," Astrid shot at him irritably, but with a wry smile.

"Awright then, 'ow abou' tha' ah found yer dragon?"

"Wha-?"

Stormfly barrelled past them, a blur of colour that quickly rounded a building and disappeared from sight. Gobber wobbled and staggered, she hadn't actually touched him but having a dragon practically charge you would test anyone's reflexes.

"Stormfly!" Astrid called out in vain, running after her. Since their little spat in the forest the dragon had ignored her; she now regretted how she'd acted, though Stormfly had been no better really. They needed to make up and go for a flight.

If only Stormfly would slow down long enough to make up with!

* * *

_Thump thump thump thump_, paws beat the ground to accelerate the Spine-Tail they were attached to through the nest. _Kraah_, the things Long-Paws wore on their paws made it very difficult to track them most of the time, they all only smelled of whatever they'd walked in. They were unique enough to track once the scent was found, but the scent changed frequently so needed to be re-acquired regularly. Sometimes they spread a salty smell where they went, but only sometimes.

She was weary, but she couldn't rest. There was danger in the nest, she had to eliminate it, and she set herself to that goal as long as she could see; most nights were too dark, but this one was clear and bright.

But this predator was like a slippery little furred thing that scurried around her claws before she could close them on it. Waiting and watching hadn't worked, it was small and fast and every time she caught up to it there were other Long-Paws who would be badly hurt in a confrontation; it would do no good to burn the nest she was trying to protect.

So now she raced up and down the small-land, hoping to stumble on the predator or spook it out of hiding; it did not belong here and it knew it.

She spotted a form skulking in shadows a little way up the nest and veered towards it, running swiftly and low to the ground; she had flushed it out. It spotted her and ran as well, but with its tiny legs and lack of tail, it had no hope. It would not escape now, not at night with a lack of Long-Paw fledglings to protect itself with.

It rounded on one of the dens and disappeared into it, but that den would not save it. That den was small and squat, the type that smelled of fish and did not have any Long-Paws in it at night. It would offer no protection. She let out a cry of _hunting, satisfaction._

A gout of fire burned through the thin trees that covered the entrance to the den, and what remained stood little chance against her horned head. She wanted to rip this predator apart for all the hassle it had caused her, but her wings caught on the wall of the den, which was much sturdier and did not give way to her shoving.

The fire spread rapidly from the burning splinters, and by the suddenly bright light she saw her quarry at the other end of the den. Alone and trapped. Though it was still moving, planting a paw on a raised surface and swinging its hindlegs up to kick at the wall of the den… The walls should be strong against a Long-Paw, but a small part of this one gave way with practically none of the expected splintering sound – and the Long-Paw continued on through it!

A thick torrent of cleansing fire streaked across the den and splashed off the edges of the hole, but the yelp of pain was not encouraging. Dead things did not yelp. She screeched in frustration and wrenched herself from the burning den, then leapt up on top of it and hopped to the other side. There was no sign of her quarry. She hopped down with a roar and followed the trail, but it quickly passed through a narrow space she could not follow through. The trail did not appear from the other side, though the gap was empty.

_Kraah!_ Every time her claws closed around it, it found a way to scurry away! She wouldn't even just be able to track it through the empty nest, as it was no longer empty, Long-Paws were shouting and starting to run around, but she ignored them.

That was a mistake. A weighty blow to the side of her head staggered her, and a heavy force crashing into her side sent her to the ground despite her flaring wings. Her mouth was clamped shut and her wings, legs and tail were all quickly pinned to the ground. Unnecessary, as she had little strength to struggle against so many, and would not kill these Long-Paws for whatever they were doing; they were not trying to kill her, their flat claws were still by their sides.

The ground wouldn't stay still below her, and the side of her head throbbed dully, but she didn't fight. Not even when something wrapped around her wings, holding them firmly to her sides. Especially not when her Long-Paw approached her, wet eyes full of _concern_ and _disappointment._

* * *

It had taken nearly a week, but Fishlegs had _finally_ convinced the Meatheads to let some kids play with the Furies – under _very_ strict supervision, of course, that came in the form of three Meathead warriors. At least they didn't even look twice at Meatlug, dozing off to the side and perfectly content to laze around all day. Regardless, things started off very well.

One of the earlier kids stuck in his mind though. Fishlegs had introduced him to Hiccup and they chased each other for a little while before Hiccup allowed the boy to pet him. He'd disappeared without Fishlegs thinking anything further of him, but returned after Toothy had been rotated in and Hiccup was taking his turn sunning on his back in the grass.

"Umm… Mister dragon person?" the somewhat weedy boy asked hesitantly, flanked by a pair of curious friends who had also seen Hiccup.

"If you want to see him again we'll see if we have time later," Fishlegs said with a smile. Depended how long the Furies wanted to play for, he supposed.

"Ummm okay, sure, but… Are you sure he's a boy? Because…" He trailed off and pointed at Hiccup, still splayed out and showing a complete lack of modesty… and a complete lack of any masculine weaponry.

Fishlegs laughed, a little nervously given the subject – but right before he could start explaining, he reassessed his assumption and closed his mouth, staring into the distance with his brow furrowed.

…_Was_ he sure? Their proportions matched what he knew of Toothless, and Fishlegs had made use of plenty of opportunities to examine both Fury fledglings, but without a female to compare to – or getting _really_ personal – he couldn't be absolutely certain. Furies were different to other dragons in many ways, there might not even _be_ any outward differences.

Toothless wouldn't… have turned Hiccup into a _girl_ dragon, would he? That line of thought just did not bear thinking through… but he _was_ smaller, limber…

"Yes, I'm sure," he asserted with a confidence he wished he felt. "Their, um, boy bits just, uh, hide away…"

"See, I told you they was like dogs," one of the trio said as they turned to leave, pushing each other playfully.

The kids continued to roll through, all having a great time, but Fishlegs couldn't put the thought from his head. Hiccup's smaller stature was due to several weeks of malnutrition, but he'd _always_ been smaller, and he'd said they _weren't_ going looking for female dragons… Dragonese used a single term to reference someone, not 'he' or 'she', and he couldn't remember Hiccup ever _saying_ he was male… Actually, what had made Hiccup sure Toothless was male in the first place? Fishlegs highly suspected his assumption was layered on another. Small doubts burrowed their way into his mind.

The question was… would it haunt him more to not know for sure, or to trample his pride and ask?

Actually, if he asked, there was a possibility he'd be told contrary to his assumption, and at best he'd probably be laughed at. He could live with a few doubts, and Hiccup was embracing his new life whichever way that went. It wasn't Fishlegs' business.

Aside from his little crisis, it had been a roaring success, kids lined up all almost all afternoon to get some careful guidance on how to pet and play with a dragon. In fact, Fishlegs was almost completely certain that they'd been through every kid and were now working through them a second time, because the faces were starting to look familiar. Or maybe he just needed a break.

Actually, he probably really did need a break, it was becoming a lot harder to remain focused. He stared at Hiccup vacantly, almost as vacant as the boy he was playing with; a young kid with light freckling and sandy blonde hair. He was having fun, but Hiccup was getting pretty bored, so was excited when Toothy coasted back to the ground with a bark to announce his presence; mainly for the benefit of the three drowsy but somewhat skittish warriors overseeing things.

They had a brief conversation, something about good winds and probably that they would swap again soon, when the boy reached forward. The action stood out to Fishlegs, which was strange, Hiccup and Toothy happily played with grabby infants all the time on Berk. It was probably to do with the realisation that Hiccup had his tail tucked to his side, and always had for a while. Toothy was much more relaxed with his.

Still, he didn't see why it would be a problem, and therefore nearly jumped out of his skin when the kid grabbed Hiccup's tail, and Hiccup spun with a shrill growl and then skittered backwards, low to the ground with his eyes wide and narrowed.

The warriors suddenly standing behind him had him spin again and quickly back up towards Fishlegs, and Toothy was quickly by his side and ready for a fight; no longer a little fledgling, he looked _very_ intimidating.

"Woah, woah, everyone calm down!" Fishlegs said loudly, stepping in front of the Furies and moving to check over the kid, who looked to be in shock. "If you want to do something," he said to the burly men, "keep the other kids back." They were all edging closer, murmuring loudly and trying to get a better look at what was going on.

The warriors and the Furies circled around each other until the kids were behind a wall of muscle, though they looked more to be trying to protect the kids than hold them back. Whatever; the result was the same.

Fishlegs spent the time inspecting the kid in the middle of it all, finding gashes down the back of his hand; he'd not even seen Hiccup strike, but the pattern was irrefutable. "Only some cuts," he explained, "he'll be fine. Just take him to your healer."

He received three stony expressions, but then one stepped forward took the boy by his arm. "Ah'll get the Chief," he said quietly to the other two, hefting the kid and carrying him away as the exclamations of pain began.

_Great,_ there went this little venture. Still, it _was_ pretty stupid to just grab a dragon's tail, and they _had_ been cautioned against it. Fishlegs groaned frustratedly, he should have done an intelligence and sense test instead of just taking a minimum age. Everything was so obvious _after_ it all fell apart.

But come on, this was _Hiccup!_

Well, Mogadon would want answers, and he should probably have them. He took a deep breath and approached Hiccup, doing his best to ignore Toothy's wary gaze, and sat down; Hiccup could stare eye-to-eye from all fours now, but currently he was hunched low to the ground.

"You okay?" he asked gently, quelling his agitation with logic – this was Hiccup's project, he wouldn't mess it up over something trivial. He was glancing around with those frighteningly narrow eyes, but then blinked and looked at him as his pupils began to dilate. "What happened?"

Hiccup lowered his eyes to the ground and shrank back a little further. _"Not know,"_ he said slowly. _"I felt… I…"_ He whined piteously. _"I… felt attacked. I know it not attack… I just…"_

He pawed at the ground while Fishlegs ran through possibilities and scenarios. And when he factored in when it all started…

"Berserk," he whispered, and Hiccup flinched.

They both flinched when a loud voice boomed over the whispers of the kids. "Wha's gone on 'ere?" Mogadon asked.

"Ahh, err, s-sorry sir," Fishlegs stammered. "Just a bit too much curiosity… and an… overreaction."

"An' wha' kind o' overreaction sends a kid ter the 'ealer?" Mogadon demanded, leaning on his peg leg and fingering his sword.

"The 'what happens if I grab this dragon's tail while he's not looking' kind," Fishlegs shot back before he could stop himself, then clamped his mouth shut. He didn't know when this had started, but he really wished it would stop.

Mogadon opened his mouth, still the picture of distrust and anger, but then closed it again with a brief chuckle. "Aye, that do seem a stupid thing ter do," he admitted. "Bu' you said you 'ad them under control."

Fishlegs held in a groan. "We don't _control_ them. Just… Argh, if I walked up behind Thuggory and pulled his hair, what sort of injuries could I expect to walk away with?"

"Yeh'd be lucky ter walk away a' all," Mogadon said quickly, then grimaced. "Ah see where yer goin' with this."

"Right." But he still wasn't convinced. Fishlegs winced, realising he needed a demonstration. So, if Hiccup was like that with his tail… then… he just hoped this wouldn't hurt too much…

His hand edged along the ground, striking a delicate balance of haste. The moment his finger brushed against Toothy's paw, said paw was suddenly pressing claws into his arm with a growl. "S-See?" he squeaked out. "I'm not c-controlling him…"

"Tha' proves nothin'."

Fishlegs _did_ groan then, he didn't want to explain the whole trauma thing… But maybe he didn't have to… "Can he see your paws?" he quietly asked Toothy.

Toothy growled at him again, but Hiccup nudged him and they stared at each other for a moment. Toothy huffed, then nodded slowly. _"Only look,"_ he growled.

"Thanks. It'll help, I promise." Toothy huffed again, then lifted himself onto his hindlegs, and Fishlegs beckoned to Mogadon. Given the Chief's hand firmly grasped the handle of his sword, he stopped him just outside of melee range, at which point Toothy fixed them both with a level look and held up his front paws, displaying the pale scars crossing over the pads.

"Wha' am ah lookin' at 'here?" It was a good thing there was still light actually, though there would not be for much longer.

Hiccup answered the question by standing up, awkwardly walking over, and holding up a paw as well, his dark pink pads unblemished. Mogadon turned back to Toothy with an unreadable expression. "Given wha' you been sayin', ah no think you did tha'," he said.

"No! We…" How much to say, what to explain? "We rescued him from some Outcasts when he was younger," Fishlegs hedged, thinking fast and watching Hiccup in case it was too much. "They weren't being gentle."

Mogadon just stared at him, running his fingers through his curly mess of a beard.

"Hiccup was similarly rescued," Fishlegs continued warily. "His tail was injured, but we–"

He was interrupted by a loud screech echoing over the village from somewhere outside it.

* * *

Dreamer hissed at the unfamiliar Nadder call, echoing Wanderer. "Not ours," he said quickly to Fishlegs, dropping back to his paws and scanning the evening sky. The sound seemed to have been purely for volume, he couldn't read _anything_ into it, which had him worried.

Fishlegs barely had time to stumble over an explanation to Mogadon before a figure became visible, a Nadder flapping hard and headed for the village. What was it _doing?_ Wild dragons avoided Viking settlements without the influence of the queen…

Apparently not this one. It swooped down, and Dreamer barked in alarm as he saw and heard it breathe a torrent of fire just before he lost sight of it behind the buildings. He remained frozen in place by the shouts and screams, startlingly clear despite the distance and obstructions.

Mogadon began shouting orders, but Dreamer wasn't listening, and it didn't matter. He had to work out what was going on, and couldn't think of a possibility that was even remotely plausible.

The Meathead Chief suddenly went quiet, then shouted something at Fishlegs. _"-rescind the condition tha' the Furies 'ave fire, now take tha' thing ou'!"_ Fishlegs started responding in a panic, but it was irrelevant. The Nadder was back in sight, and it was just swooping down on random buildings and setting them ablaze, and if the Meatheads took it down…

"We need stop it!" Dreamer implored Wanderer, who was watching the Nadder with narrowed eyes.

Those green orbs turned on him, full of _concern,_ but then became set with _determination._ "Stay," Wanderer ordered, and leapt into the air.

Dreamer leapt up after him, but just cruised above the village. Spitelout was already chasing it on Kingstail, and it was not paying him any attention, and he was fairly certain he could outfly it if necessary; he had a better chance up here than from the ground, anyway.

Wanderer kept going up, quickly shrinking into the sky. His descent was announced by the telltale whistle, building into a chilling screech that painted the ground in vague outlines, even where Dreamer wasn't looking. Shouts could be heard from below as the wail grew in volume and pitch, the first time Meathead Island had heard such a sound since that last raid on Berk.

The growing form of Wanderer hurtled towards the ground, pulling up sharply and shooting past the Nadder so fast it squawked in alarm and pulled out of the dive it was in. Wanderer banked around so smoothly and tightly it looked like he was a weight on a rope, making another strafing run on the Nadder. Again and again he shot past it, far out of reach before it could turn to slash, snap and flame at him. Frustrated, it suddenly lunged for Kingstail and several quills sprouted in both Nadders' sides, but Kingstail was the only one to go down.

Wanderer shot up into the air while it was distracted, arcing over and down on top of it. He flipped at the last moment, falling tail-first past it, then righted himself and screeched back into the sky. By the way the Nadder stumbled in the air, he must have slashed its wing.

Dreamer soared over as the Nadder spiralled down, screeching and roaring madly as it went, and alighted on a nearby roof as it staggered to a halt on the ground in an empty clearing. It didn't even have time to find its balance before Wanderer slammed into it, knocking it to the ground. He landed on its wing and grappled the other, using them to pin it to its side.

It kicked, bucked and snapped its teeth, but Wanderer held it down, though he seemed unable to do anything else. Dreamer swooped down and landed in front of it, barking to get its attention, but only succeeded in getting it to snap at him instead. He barked again, and again, then _roared_ at it, to no effect.

"Dreamer!" Wanderer shouted as he struggled to hold it down, deflecting spines with his wings and holding himself away from its teeth and talons. "Kill!"

No… That couldn't be the solution! He couldn't just kill it, not like this! He roared at it again, but it was as if it didn't even see him.

A loud _crack_ echoed off the nearby buildings, Dreamer cringing violently at the sound of Wanderer breaking its wing. _"Dreamer!"_ he implored desperately.

Dreamer whimpered. He couldn't, just couldn't kill it, couldn't even approach it as it snarled and snapped at him, apparently oblivious to being grounded. He was frozen, his mind was frozen, and everything was happening in a sort of hazy slow motion. He could only watch it thrash and buck.

Could only watch it buck, catching Wanderer's side, then slap him with its tail and throw him off.

His paws moved of their own accord, propelling him forward to slash at its eyes. It blindly threw its head back, screeching and snapping its teeth, but too slow. There was no analysis of the situation, no thinking at all, he simply did the only thing he could to immobilise it – sink his teeth into its exposed throat, and tear it out.

All sound abruptly ceased, leaving a horrible ringing in Dreamer's ears and head. Reality crashed back in. He gagged on the blood in his mouth, lamenting his inability to spit and almost making himself sick, but could only try to drool it out onto the trodden dirt.

_Wanderer._ He turned to his friend, staggered to the side, then strode forward, forcing his distant and hollow body to move forward. Wanderer was pulling himself to his paws, using his front right paw gingerly, but it didn't seem to be broken and he was holding his wings well. Dreamer whimpered in relief.

They staggered and limped up to each other and bumped heads, both panting heavily and purring _relief_. Dreamer allowed Wanderer to clean the blood off his face, then hooked a paw behind Wanderer's injured leg and gently lifted it to inspect it. No Nightstriker blood, and no breaks. "How?" he asked.

"Landed on it," Wanderer grumbled, pulling it back. "It not bad hurt." He touched his nose to Dreamer's head and sighed. "I _could_ have bad hurts…"

"I not could fight," Dreamer whined sullenly, quite aware of just how badly that could have gone. He ignored the crowd growing around them, just as he was ignoring the Nadder corpse bleeding into the ground; it wasn't difficult with the fuzziness that still gripped his mind, and this was all that mattered right now.

"You _did_ fight," Wanderer said with an edge of frustration. "But only after-…"

Dreamer pulled his head back to find Wanderer staring at him with his mouth open. "…I could have bad hurts…" he repeated slowly, apparently to himself.

_"Ya did i'!"_ The booming voice of Chief Mogadon cut through the murmur of the gathering crowd, striding into the clearing – it appeared to be a plaza of some sort – with Fishlegs in tow, who hurried forward and insisted on inspecting Wanderer's leg. _"Ah'm sold. When can yeh get us our own dragons?"_

Perhaps it was just the shock lifting the blindfold his vision had over him, but he couldn't help noticing the way that was phrased, hear the _desire_ and _greed_ in Mogadon's voice, see it in how he eyed the dead Nadder… and realise what a _stupid_ idea it was to try to give _dragons_ to _Vikings_. He wasn't interested in making peace with dragons – he wanted to _weaponise_ them.

Fishlegs, oblivious to this, beamed and began talking, but Dreamer cut him off with a _pleading_ bark. _"Uh, we'll talk later,"_ he promised instead, casting Dreamer a confused look before returning to Wanderer's leg.

Dreamer groaned and slumped wearily, looking forward to just collapsing somewhere dark and quiet. He didn't even care where at this point, as long as it was with his friend.

_"…Yeh'll need ter come with me, boy,"_ Mogadon growled suddenly, his voice dark and tense. Dreamer snapped his head up to find the Chief staring at him, his one eye now glaring _suspicion, anger, betrayal,_ and his hand on his sword_._ How could things have possibly gone even worse? _"Yer dragons too."_

What!? What was going on here!? Dreamer turned his dazed attention to the crowd, catching snippets here and there but very quickly picking up the tense, uneasy attitude.

_"Now, of all-" "-couldn't control-" "-happen to be here when-"_ _"-no raids in-"_ _"-backfired-"_

He whined as he put it all together. Not a single raid in years, and then a dragon attacks the village within a week of Hooligan paws landing on the island? What were the odds? But this definitely wasn't their doing!

And all the eyes on him, the way they stared… The way Mogadon had asked them to go with him… Dreamer foresaw being tossed into the barn – if he was _lucky_ – to be locked inside, trapped, _caged,_ and a flood of panic washed through him. "You can fly?" he asked Wanderer tensely.

His friend froze, staring at a confused Fishlegs, but subtly flared the tips of his wings. That was all the answer Dreamer needed. He spun and leapt into the air, pumping it hard, and the two Nightstrikers flew from the village as fast as their wings would carry them.


	26. Leverage

Astrid woke to the pitter-patter of rain on the stone of the training ring, feeling lethargic and unrested. The night had been cold in Stormfly's stable, even leaning against the dragon, as her wings were still tied to her sides and therefore offered no shelter or warmth. The best Stormfly had been able to do was curl her neck around her.

At least she'd had the sense of mind to grab a long, thick coat and some gloves while her dragon was being trundled to the ring. Stifling though it was, she adjusted it around herself and tucked her legs in a little closer, but the movement roused Stormfly and some of her warm backrest pulled away so that they could look eye to eye.

She held out a hand, wishing she knew what her dragon was thinking. Stormfly touched her snout to it with a gentle warble, then lowered her head to the ground again. Astrid knew there was no point pressing questions herself, she simply didn't know enough Dragonese to go into that sort of detail. For that, she needed Fishlegs.

Although, now that Stormfly had settled, she and Tuffnut might be able to work it out between them, he seemed to magically know what they were thinking… but he would be on his way to get Fishlegs by now. No matter, they would be back early afternoon at the latest.

Astrid just couldn't believe that this was some sort of dragon madness… Here, now, Stormfly was perfectly calm and placid. Something in the village was riling her somehow.

But none of this added up! The incident with Aldin on the boat had been the first sign, but then he apparently hadn't seen her since. Her behaviour had been erratic for the days after that, and then she'd suddenly burned down a storehouse, which just happened to have almost every weapon in the village in it for some reason.

And that didn't make sense either! Why were the weapons all in one place to start with, and then what had caused Stormfly to burn it all? She didn't even hang around; she had been skulking around a few houses away before she'd been restrained.

Astrid got to her feet and stretched. There was nothing to do but await more information, which she wouldn't get here. She scowled at the rain outside, they were barely into spring so it would be freezing cold, but this early in the morning the clouds would not be too high up. "Do you… want to go for a flight?" she asked.

Stormfly perked a little at that, shuffling from her side into a crouch. "Stay here a moment," she said gently, then pulled her hood up and jogged out into the wet to retrieve the saddle from the storeroom set into the cliff above the ring. It wasn't nearly as long as her usual morning routine, but it was enough to get her heart beating and work out most of the stiffness. Even more so when she jogged back, awkwardly holding the saddle above her head to better shield herself from the rain.

She didn't honestly think Stormfly would bolt the moment her wings were free, but Astrid was still wary as she undid the knots; the Nadder _had_ been unpredictable lately. It proved unfounded, she pulled off the ropes, saddled her and mounted up without issue.

Leaning back to pull Stormfly into a steep climb, she pulled her hood down and shielded her face from the rain as they ascended through the dreary sky, through the dense clouds that she could breathe but felt heavy in her chest, and finally out into the sky above.

The air was still bitterly cold, but her heavy coat had kept most of the wet out and only her face was exposed. She squinted into the sudden light, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the brilliant blue above, and took a long, deep breath. Breaking through the clouds was always an incredible experience, and she stretched to bask in it. It took her a moment to notice, with a start, that below them was a dark sea of grey as far as she could see. That was foreboding.

But up here… it was like nothing else mattered. She leaned back in the saddle and held her head high into the breeze as Stormfly flew peacefully slow and level. This morning was not a day for thrills and training, it was simply for enjoying each other's company.

The dark clouds beneath felt fitting. Descending through them would throw her world into uncertainty again, where she didn't know her dragon, where the village was much less defensible. She didn't have to think about that up here, in the bright and clear sky. There was just her and Stormfly.

The tranquillity was eventually broken by Astrid's stomach complaining noisily to her. Stormfly even heard it, apparently, as she turned her head and squawked at her rider. "Yeah you're probably right, let's go find breakfast."

She noted with a start that the clouds below weren't dark and ominous anymore, and it took her a moment to realise it was just that the sun had been below them before and was now above them. She hadn't flown like this so early before, so it wasn't something she'd noticed.

Ominous or no, they were still wet, but the rain seemed to have eased somewhat and was now only a light misting.

As they descended into the darkness below, it quickly became apparent they'd drifted quite far from Berk, having no points of reference in the open sky above. There was no concern though, Stormfly angled them to a distant island without even seeming to think about it and before long the mountain was looming above them.

Astrid guided them down to a larger sea stack just off the coast and dismounted, then removed the saddle. It was a show of trust… sort of. She trusted Stormfly not to fly off and leave her there, but not to return to her if they'd set down in the village. Gods, when did she not trust Stormfly implicitly in everything…

She watched the Nadder glide above the water for a while, then flap for a bit of height and dive straight down into it, emerging moments later and labouring back into the air to repeat the process.

Hunger sated but dripping wet, she returned to Astrid, who saddled her up again, and they headed back towards the village. As it came into view, Astrid pulled her towards the training ring, and they set down inside it. "Sorry girl, I think you need to stay out of the village for a little while… just until we work this out."

Stormfly squawked, examining Astrid, then gave her a heavy nuzzle. "I know, it won't be long. I mean it though. Stay here."

The look she got back startled her a little, like Stormfly was _begging_ her to be careful. Since when were dragons so… expressive? But then Stormfly nudged her shoulder with her snout, and plodded into her stable to begin preening herself.

It wouldn't be for very long… just until Fishlegs got back. By boat it was half the journey to the nest, so she just had to distract herself with something and he'd be back before she knew it. All this would be sorted out soon.

Her stomach complained again on the jog back to the village, reminding her again that she hadn't yet eaten. They should still be serving breakfast; she'd be stuck with whatever was left but that was far from registering on her list of problems right now.

After warming some stale bread over the fire and downing it with some cold eggs, cheese and fruit preserve, she headed out again to look for Stoick. He'd been out late last night, probably somewhere on the island as they hadn't been able to find him, but once again he didn't appear to be home; he must have come and gone already.

Gobber would have caught him though. She strode down the village towards the blacksmith, but instead found him standing in front of the husk of a storehouse, apparently oblivious to the cold rain. "You spoken to Stoick yet?" she asked him as she approached.

"Eh? No, no' ye'. 'E was no in his house this mornin'."

"He wasn't?" She groaned; the Chief overdoing things was hardly unusual, but it meant he would be grouchy, and this situation was bad enough already.

"Aye. An' then there's this." He gestured to what was left of the building.

"I'm sure she didn't mean to, and-"

Gobber cut her off with a wave of his hand, then waddled into the building. Astrid followed. "Look a' these weapons," he said, picking the blackened axe head off the ground and handing it to her.

"The fact there's so many here at all?"

"Well, yeh, tha' too, bu' actually look a' i'."

She frowned at him and inspected the weapon, noting the warped edge and rippled surface. "It's a bit melted?"

"Aye. A _bi'_ melted. They _all_ are."

"So…?" What was he getting at with all this?

Gobber sighed and picked up another. "Nadder fire would do more than a little meltin', bu' jus' bein' in a burnin' buildin' would'n' do anythin'. An' i's too even. I's like they were burned by a Nigh'mare, no' a Nadder."

"But Hookfang isn't even-" She nearly dropped the lump of metal in her hands at the implication. _"Sabotage!? _But who…"

Gobber interrupted her thoughts by beckoning her to the back, walking through where the rear wall used to be. "An' then there's this… Ah don' know wha' ter make of i'."

Astrid followed him to find him staring down at some short planks lying in the scraggly grass, the sides caked in mud… Like what was used to seal a storehouse… "Was this… cut from the wall?" She picked one up, finding the ends frayed and raw. How could anyone cut into a solid wall?

"Looks like. Don' ge' me wrong, I ain' _lookin'_ ter prove yer Nadder innocent, bu' she's lookin' a lo' less guilty righ' now." He absently squeezed some of the water out of his moustache. "Hel if ah know wha' i' means though."

Everything started with Aldin… Stormfly wasn't crazy, she was _hunting_ something dangerous… Sabotage… "I think I know who we need to speak to…"

* * *

Alvin had never been so grateful for freezing cold rain. He didn't even care that he was soaked, it was just so good for numbing the excruciating pain.

This was the true power of the Kings Things. The ticking thing made one a master of time, being able to measure it precisely. One more of its short seconds and he would be laughing. But no, he had been a moment too slow, and that moment had practically melted his scalp and some of his back, leaving it a raw and blistered mess. He wouldn't be charming his way into any houses for a long time, if ever. _Curse_ that despicable dragon! When he took over, he would be sure to give it a suitably slow and excruciating death.

But that would have to wait. He finally reached the secluded inlet, having needed some of the night to recover, and kicked awake the Nameless lounging by the boat. "Get up! Everything went to plan, so get going."

The Nameless startled to his feet, then did a double-take at Alvin. "Boss…?"

"Alright, maybe not _everything_ went to plan. But a dragon went mad and burned all their weapons. And remember where you're going _first_."

"Meathead Island," he confirmed somewhat vaguely. "And then…"

Alvin clapped his ear with his hook, suppressing the flare of pain from the stump. "And then you spread the rumours. What happened here, and whatever happened with my Nadder there. Go to all the northern tribes, the usual route."

The ragged man scrambled to obey, climbing into the boat, climbing back out to push it off, then climbing back in. Incompetent fool. Alvin shook his head-

And immediately froze, groaning in pain as it pulled on the burns. Maybe be would skin it alive, one palm of scaly hide per day…

At least he was now rid of his own remaining Nadder, probably. They were theoretically valuable and powerful tools, broken dragons, but difficult to obtain, time consuming to break and train, and costly to keep fed. That male in particular had taken a very aggressive streak that made it difficult to control, though that had probably served well in the end.

Alvin set out again through the forest, grimacing every time a fat droplet fell from the trees onto his head but striding onward. The sooner he got there, the sooner he wouldn't have to put up with it.

His second destination was a camp in a secluded cave, one of many he knew of; Berk was conveniently riddled with them. Given the rain, there would probably be a fire too, which would be nice. Despite the welcome numbing effect, the cold was starting to get a bit overbearing.

The five Outcasts inside did a double take at him as well, and he had to resist rubbing his head in disappointment; he'd sent six. "The other?" he asked dispassionately.

"Snapped 'is neck," Savage said, dramatically acting it out on himself. "With one 'and."

"I _told_ you to be careful-"

"An' we was!" Savage griped. "Had 'im trussed up an' all afore 'e was even awake. Fair done snapped the ropes. You can sees we takin' no chances now. I tell ya, rather I'd take the dragon again, even if it _is_ growed up."

"Hardly a surprise," Alvin said mildly, meeting the cold and stony eyes of the seventh person in the shallow cave, gagged and wrapped in more ropes than he cared to count. "Considering the rumours about you, we should have expected no less, Chief 'Stoick the Vast'."

* * *

Okay… Dreamer was _fairly_ certain he knew where they were keeping Fishlegs, Spitelout, and Snotlout. At least, he assumed that's why Mogadon would visit the same guarded building three times in the same morning.

And he already knew where the other dragons were; that had been easy, they'd instantly responded to a roar with their own, which his sensitive ears could have picked up from the other side of the island. Well, the living dragons, anyway, the Nadder he had killed last night had been… the best way to describe it was 'taken apart'. He shuddered at the memory and shoved it back to a corner of his mind.

Knowing where everyone was didn't do him much good at this point. They were free to fly above the village as much as they wanted, but actually going down there was a whole other story, at least during the light. He expected to need to go back to get Stoick, but while he could make it back there in the time it took Snotlout to find his helmet in the morning, Stoick would need to come by boat, so it would be a few days regardless. He might as well wait until night and see what Fishlegs had to say about it.

He drifted over to Wanderer and pointed at the building with his snout, and his friend chuffed in confirmation. "We maybe talk with Fishlegs this night. Then… I not know. We do something…"

Wanderer's eyes went back to the barn containing the dragons. Pretty stupid, really, to house dragons in a wooden structure, but they hadn't burned it down yet. He gave it another day before Hookfang set fire to himself in boredom, possibly earlier if they weren't being fed. That was the other reason they hadn't left yet.

But they couldn't just free the dragons either… Dreamer was fairly certain they would go straight for their riders, or just cause panic in general. No, he needed to be smart about this…

He sighed and looked to the horizon. The clouds above them were heavy but scattered, thoughtfully holding back their water, but he could see denser clouds in the distance and the smudging below it that indicated rain. It didn't seem to be getting any closer at least.

By periodically keeping an eye on the rains like this, he was thankfully aware of a distant shape well before it reached the village, and winged out over the sea to check out what it was. He barked in surprise as he eventually recognised the strange shape as being the twins on their Zippleback. What on Midgard were _they_ doing here? Not that he was arguing.

He barked in summons, both to the twins and to Wanderer, and banked over to Forget Me where they'd spent the night. It was a nondescript chunk of land just off the coast of South Island, an empty forest surrounded by sheer cliffs, and just that. Some liked to speculate on some Meathead conspiracy, but given the originality of the rest of the names of the Meathead Islands, he thought it more likely it was just a reminder there was nothing of interest there.

Regardless, it appeared completely inaccessible except by dragon, unless one braved the sea violently lashing the rocks below to begin a treacherous climb, so it was the perfect place to regroup. Whether the Meatheads noticed their uninvited visitor or not was unknown, not that they could do anything about the three dragons descending onto the little island.

_"So, Hicster, what's new?"_ Tuffnut asked as he dismounted, and immediately began stretching.

_Hicster?_ What in… Actually, Dreamer just wasn't going to think about it. That seemed wise. "This nest take Fish-Legs, other nest-kin," he explained, hoping Tuffnut understood.

_"What's that Hiccy?"_ Ruffnut asked mischievously._ "Fishlegs fell down the well?"_

Tuffnut immediately decked her, dropping her to the ground, then turned back to him. _"…He didn't _actually_ fall down the well did he?"_ he asked. Dreamer shook his head with a roll of his eyes. _"Okay, good. So the Meatheads got suspicious over something and captured everyone, but you two got out. That about right?"_

"Yes!" he exclaimed happily, then actually thought about it and slumped with a groan. Sure, Tuffnut had got his meaning, but not by understanding his words, which meant actually planning anything would be a chore.

_"Rats. We were sent here to bring him back so he can find out what has Stormfly freaking out."_

_"Owwww,"_ Ruffnut complained, getting back to her feet. _"Right in the jaw… Man, why you always gotta be serious with these guys?"_ She stopped and considered something. _"Wait, if we can't get Fishlegs, does that mean we can't fix Stormfly? Well, we tried, let's go back and watch the show!"_

Dreamer rolled his eyes again and scratched at the grass, tearing up the turf and dragging it aside. When he had sufficient space cleared he trod the dirt down flat, then began a rough sketch of the village; he knew it well enough by now, having spent most of the morning observing it from above.

_"Woah,"_ Ruffnut whispered as he worked.

_"Quiet, the dragon is talking,"_ Tuffnut admonished her, paying rapt attention.

He only needed to outline half the village to label the two buildings, one with a pair of wings and the other with a horned helmet.

_"Awesome, so we know where they are, let's break 'em out and-"_

Dreamer groaned and gestured to some of the many buildings he'd drawn.

_"Okay, fine, mister smarty-no-pants, what do you suggest?"_

After a moment of thought, Dreamer extended a wing over the map, mostly hiding it from sight, then tapped the helmet he'd drawn. Tuffnut leaned under the wing to see what he was doing, then stroked his chin thoughtfully. _"You want to talk to Fishlegs. Fiiiine. Berk can wait a day."_

Oh, right, he'd said something about Stormfly. Dreamer chirped enquiringly at him, tilting his head with his ears and frills out.

_"Nah, she's fine really. Just stressed about something. Been running around the village for days, it's pretty amusing actually."_ Well, that wasn't normal, but they had other things to worry about for now.

So they had to wait until night fell to make their next move. There wasn't really anything that needed doing in the meantime, so maybe they could shed some light on where the Nadder had come from… and why.

* * *

Finding the source of the errant dragon had been surprisingly easy, but a puzzle in itself. Sniffing around the forest in the direction it had come from, they quickly stumbled upon a set of wagon tracks. Following the tracks led to a clearing that smelled lightly of the Nadder, but more prominently featured what little was left of the wagon. At the other end of the tracks was a secluded inlet. It was difficult to tell how many different boot scents were around it though, but they all led back along the wagon's trail.

It wasn't difficult to puzzle out. Someone had brought it on a boat and dragged it to here using a wagon.

So, Dreamer knew _how_. Far more pressing was the _who_ and the _why,_ to which there were no hints whatsoever. Or… was there? Something was bothering him about the Nadder itself.

"Why you say kill Spine-Tail?" he asked Wanderer. It hurt that another dragon had died so soon after the last, and this one by his own teeth, but he harboured no ill feelings towards his friend for it; he simply wanted to know what Wanderer's reasoning was.

Wanderer swivelled his head in the air to look at him, something not advisable at high speeds but simple at this slow cruise as they watched over the village for more developments. "I see before… in big-warm-nest. Sometimes… nest-kin just stop. Not see, not think." He warbled sadly. "Sometimes they not move, not eat. Sometimes they fly away, not stop flying. I follow a Spine-Tail once, watch them fly until fall into sea. Sometimes they fight." He drooped in the air. "They always die. Not can help them."

Dreamer crooned sadly, drooping as well. Despite his willingness to kill, Wanderer also clearly valued life, at least much more than anyone else Dreamer knew. "What make nest-kin… stop?" he asked quietly.

"I think it different for each. Some when lose fledglings, I not know other reasons. I thought queen caused it, but…"

If they didn't live long, then either the queen wasn't to blame for this condition, or something else had caused it in this particular-

That little itch in Dreamer's memories popped open, the sudden connection bringing with it a flood of realisations, and he looked at Wanderer in horror. "You say when we taken, you nearly lose your thinking…"

Wanderer snapped up to look at him in similarly deep unease. "I… that maybe…"

A growl rose in Dreamer's throat towards the distant horizon. It still didn't make complete sense, and he didn't see what it could accomplish, but it was just too close to ignore. The Outcasts were somewhat organised, and knew how to break a dragon, had _almost_ broken Wanderer, so they were capable of this. None of the tribes would even know anyone from Berk was here, but it was well known that Outcast ships sailed everywhere.

They had also tried to kidnap the Nightstrikers before, so this could be part of a plan, probably to have the Meatheads trap them and so they could be spirited out of the village again, leaving the Hooligans to fight the Meatheads over it. They would never have been rescued.

Dreamer shuddered thinking about that, how someone could go to all this trouble… for what? Why? That, he still didn't know. He also wasn't sure it _was_ actually the Outcasts who had set the Nadder on the village, but the more he thought about it the more sense it made. They had to have someone on Berk – no, in _all_ the tribes, probably, someone to pass the information to a boat and get this set up. The informants _here_ could then spread the appropriate response, pointing out the timing and all the things that didn't add up, blaming the Hooligans.

And all of this led straight back to the _other_ thing he'd been thinking about all afternoon – at what point did he reveal he could communicate in Norse by writing?

Ideally, never. Understanding Norse was one thing, writing it was entirely another, and whatever he thought of anyone else he was pretty sure Astrid would see it as highly suspicious. She also happened to be the one who would not be convinced to keep the secret from Stoick. Dreamer would need to 'learn' alongside Wanderer, just as they had with listening to Norse.

But, what if a situation demanded it? Right now, sharing his knowledge could have direct positive results in working out a plan. _Could._ It would certainly have ramifications though.

A life. That was the line he would draw. If he was certain that revealing his nature would save a life, he would suffer the consequences of whatever it wrought. This situation did not qualify at the moment, the riders and dragons were still protected by hospitality, despite the accusations against them, and there was no guarantee that sharing what he knew would change anything.

Wanderer chortled, and Dreamer glanced up to see him smirking at him. "What?"

"You Dreamer. You see things I not, things only you see. But you not see rock-head under your nose."

Snotlout? Oh, he was carrying a basket of fish towards the dragons. He disappeared inside for a short time, two guards going with him, then reappeared with the guards and returned to what Dreamer had assumed to be the cells.

As long as the dragons were fed as much in the morning, it should be enough. Still, they would be getting pretty restless by now, things needed resolving soon. He rolled his eyes at himself; doing boring things like this he had thoughts to spare, and they always started on something else more interesting and stole his focus. Dreamer crooned _thanks, embarrassed,_ turning his attention back to the ground below.

* * *

A peculiar rapping at the door roused Mogadon, though not completely from sleep. A second rapping was similarly ignored, and he started drifting off again; if it was urgent, it would be a lot louder.

There was silence for a little while before the rapping returned again, and a foot in his back promptly shoved Mogadon from the bed. He groaned into the floorboards while he woke, then fumbled on his wooden leg and stomped downstairs. He was Chief to the whole village, but once inside these walls he knew full well he wasn't the one in charge. He'd never let on that he liked it that way, but truthfully he was glad that in some things, someone else had control. And what was the sense in taking a strong-spirited woman and expecting her to crumple at his every whim?

That didn't stop him grumbling about it under his breath on the way to the door, which he flung open and stared in surprise at the pair of black dragons, blending neatly into the night; they were only visible by their silhouettes against the light of a few torches, and their big green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dark.

He first felt angry at his patrols for not picking up a pair of dragons in the village. A pair of dragons, he then realised, who were the colour of night, and could drop out of the sky anywhere and any time they pleased. "What do you want?" he asked tiredly, not even bothering to try restraining them.

"We just want our friends back," one of them said in a gruff voice.

"And to show you something in the forest," said the other in a higher, courser voice.

…

Okay, if he was going to dream, he'd rather do it in bed. He took a step back and started closing the door again.

"Wait wait wait!" said the second voice. "We really are talking to you! Through the power of dark dragon m-"

The voice was cut off by a meaty thump and an exclamation of pain, right as one of the dragons turned its gaze up and growled. "Come on sis, that might be going too far," the first voice said. "Way to ruin it. Look up, Chief."

Mogadon leaned out the door to peer up, and was startled to something resembling awake by a pair of Zippleback heads staring down at him from the roof of his house, with a small person sitting on each of the necks. All four of them looked down at him. "Wha' in-… 'ho are you?"

"Oh, you know, more dragon riders," the first one said. "In case the 'riding a dragon' thing didn't give it away."

"Obviously we're from Berk," the questionably feminine one said. "We were sent to get our dragon expert for a little problem back home, only to find you've got him locked up somewhere. That's not very nice, you know."

"Yer trespassin'," Mogadon growled. "I should lock you up as well."

_"Are_ we trespassing?" the gruff one asked the one next to him. "Because my feet haven't touched down."

"I don't think we have," the girl replied, waving her feet in the air. "And our dragon hasn't touched Meathead soil either. I think we're good."

"Everythin' alrigh' Chief?" the night watch called out, causing the heads of the dragons to twitch towards him.

Mogadon pinched the bridge of his nose, discreetly rubbing his eye with the motion. "As yeh were," he called out, and the patrol shrugged, but remained to observe. "Look, somethin' 'appened, and they're stayin' until ah can sor' i' ou'."

"Ooh, yeah, except how long do you think it takes a Monstrous Nightmare to get bored? That looks like a _wooden_ building you're keeping him in…"

_"I'm_ surprised he hasn't already."

"Ah ge' yer point," Mogadon cut them off irritably. These two really grated on him, they must be the notorious Thorston twins. Who had thought it had been a good idea to give _them_ a flying, fire-breathing tool of war? "Wha' der ya want?"

"Like we said, we want our tribesmen back, including the dragons, and to show you something in the forest."

"Can' i' wai'?" He was exhausted from sorting out all the cleanup and repairs the night before, rehoming several families, then getting everyone's stories and pouring over them all for inconsistencies.

"I dunno," the girl said casually, "I'm not an irritable Monstrous Nightmare locked in a flammable structure. Seriously, you got no dragon pens or anything? How do you train your kids?"

Mogadon groaned and grabbed his coat from beside the door.

"No, seriously, where's the ring you throw inexperienced kids into to fight a wild and hungry dragon?"

"You know sis, when you put it that way…"

"Wait, that was just us? Wow…"

It was probably better to just not respond to that. "I ain' offerin' hospitality, bu' I ain' gon' stick ya. Ge' down 'ere." He waved them down, and the Zippleback heads withdrew before the rest of it dropped down onto its stumpy legs. Its two riders then swung off their saddles and took up positions either side of Mogadon, herding him away from his house, and the dragon followed along behind them.

He didn't really like having the dragon behind him, but the beast seemed just as docile as the others, and he couldn't see any reason it would attack if it had not already.

"You know, we haven't blown up _anything_ yet," the boy whispered across to his sister. "And people say we have no self-control… I almost think we can even keep it until we're done here."

"Yeh'd better," Mogadon growled at him.

"We give our word!" the girl agreed. "It's better this way."

He groaned again and rubbed his head; he was too tired to deal with this pair. "'Urry it up… Where we goin'?"

"As you wish," the girl said with a flourish and a bow. "Hey, where _are_ we going?" she loudly asked the night, but before Mogadon could grab her in frustration he jumped in surprise as the two Furies dropped down from the roofs to either side of the path, just at the edge of the torchlight, and beckoned. He'd not only forgotten about them, but they'd moved without him knowing about it.

…Fine. There was unlikely to be any harm in checking this out at least, it would be stupid for them to even try anything. And it would give him more credibility later, if it was needed.

The Furies led through the darkness, difficult to make out even by the light of the torch that the Zippleback had lit with a spark. A Night Fury was the real prize for many reasons, if he was aiming to get dragons, but they were well known to be extremely rare. Well, the search would be easier with dragons of his own anyway. How had he been so blind and stubborn before? They were very useful tools.

After a time, something dark and low to the ground created a yawning void in the light cast by the torch, which he grabbed off the boy to get a closer look. A flat wagon, by the look of it, but blackened and burned. Part of the frame looked that it had been broken _after_ being burned. It didn't look like any of his, so it hadn't been stolen by the village. He held the torch to the ground behind it, noting the furrows in the ground. "Where der these tracks lead?"

"The water," the girl replied happily. "A little place you wouldn't see a boat. Which means it couldn't be us who brought it here!" She threw her arms out for emphasis.

A trusting man would take that explanation, it indeed put the accusations on the cliff's edge, but Mogadon wasn't giving in quite this easily. He had a hunch he would need good leverage to convince the Hooligans to part with their secrets; which was odd, because they had been very open about it at the start, but he knew to trust his gut. "Tha' don' mean squat. Ah you tellin' me tha' Berk don' 'ave boats 'nemore?"

"See?" the boy asked the Furies, gesturing at Mogadon. "I _told_ you he'd do this, and we tried it your way. _Now_ can we do it the Thorston way?"

What in the… Mogadon didn't even know where to _start_ with that. It being the middle of the night was not helping matters.

The smaller Fury sighed dramatically with a small groan, but then nodded.

"Yes!" the boy exclaimed, pumping his fist, then turned on Mogadon. "So, we know you're not interrogating them as much as holding them hostage right now-"

"Careful there," Mogadon warned, half-drawing his sword, and the boy stepped back with his arms up.

"Hey, no need for that. Just an observation from what Fishlegs told these two. You're about to learn we have no problem with leveraging people."

"Yeah, we just happen to need your leverage back," the girl chimed in, not giving him a chance to think. "So let us explain. First, you met with three dragons and two riders in the middle of the night."

"And then," the boy continued, "you said some pretty shifty stuff while following said dragons into the forest."

Mogadon sagged a little; he couldn't remember what they'd been talking about, but by their grins, they had carefully guided the conversation, and they _had_ been alternating between whispering and talking loudly. "Is tha' a threat?" he growled, fully unsheathing his sword.

"Weren't you listening?" the girl groaned. "It's _leverage._ And it'll be forgotten by the end of tomorrow, so just let our tribesmen and dragons go, and we'll be on our way. We weren't kidding about needing them back."

"A threat's a threa'," he replied darkly with a grin; this was even better. "Ah'll have Berk on a plate fer this."

"That's funny," the boy said, stroking his chin with a wide smirk. "I don't recall being given hospitality."

"I do believe you're right brother. I guess we were never here."

Mogadon's grin quickly vanished. It was too late now, there were no witnesses, and with a dragon they could just disappear into the night.

"We'll be watching you on your way back. Well, _they_ will." He jerked a thumb at the Furies, who grinned toothily. "If you immediately release everyone, you can claim we showed you proof of their innocence."

"But if you dawdle…" She cackled. "We get to prank a Chief! Stoick's such a killjoy, we never get away with it."

"That only works if you dawdle though. Oh, but on the subject of having never been here." The Zippleback necks snaked forward and the twins hopped into the saddles, and then Mogadon was abruptly alone – as far as he could see, he hadn't seen the Furies take off – in the forest with the husk of the wagon.

The message was clear. This already looked shady enough, and from what he knew of this pair they would have little trouble building on that; destroying dissenters' property or just spying on them, policing the village, basically doing anything that might be done on his behalf. And with a few rumours carefully placed with other tribes… He couldn't even use the Hooligans and dragons he had in custody, as they were protected by hospitality.

The best option was to comply. At least he was still holding the torch.

* * *

Dreamer took a moment to revel in the cool wind brushing over him as he glided through the murky night over Meathead Island. That hadn't gone quite as well as he'd hoped, but the twins had worked their magic and backed Mogadon into a corner he couldn't get out of. It was impressive, actually, he'd had to heavily reassess his opinion of them as they plotted out the backup plan. On the other hand, their planning methods, and _how_ they arrived at that idea…

He shook his head and turned his focus back to the Meathead Chief as he made a Terror-line straight for the guarded building.

He took a moment to reflect on that term while Mogadon dismissed the guards and entered. Terrors did not fly particularly straight, or apparently even know where they were going half the time, but it was universally accepted as a straight line. He supposed they flew straight compared to a drunk Viking, at least.

The three Hooligans emerged quickly, looking confused and, in the case of both Jorgensons, tired. It seemed Fishlegs was still wide awake after Dreamer had talked to him through the wall after locating him.

Mogadon led them through the village to the building housing the dragons, unlatched it, and stomped off; probably back to his own house. Dreamer and Wanderer glided down as the dragons emerged. Dreamer was just relieved Hookfang hadn't-

A flash of light and a scream from Snotlout almost refuted that thought, but at least he'd been let out first.

Dreamer landed and bounded up to Fishlegs, who had been bowled over and was currently wheezing a greeting at Meatlug, and joined her with a lick to his face. _"Good to see you too,"_ he gasped back, trying to push Meatlug off himself. _"Little help?"_

Meatlug was encouraged to give him some space, then the Furies herded the riders onto their dragons and beckoned with a bark. The dragons needed no further encouragement to stretch their wings, and followed them into the air. Dreamer noticed with some amusement that Fishlegs was clinging desperately to his saddle, wide eyes apparently sightless in this low light.

Spitelout was the first one to speak, as they pulled over the Meathead docks. _"So, anyone care to explain wha' in Thor's name is goin' on?"_

_"Dunno, but I can't see a thing up here,"_ Snotlout called back. _"Hookfang, light up!"_

Fishlegs relaxed by degrees with the sudden light, pulling Meatlug into formation next to Hookfang. _"Hiccup got us out somehow. I told him everything Mogadon's been asking about, he went off, and now we're out. Though I don't know where we're going."_

_"I can answer that,"_ Ruffnut's gravelly voice called out from above.

_"As can I as well,"_ came its gruff counterpart. _"But that would be redundant."_

_"So you pair came ter ge' us,"_ Spitelout groaned. _"Ah suppose i's too much to 'ope not everythin's fallen apar' since we left?"_

_"Nah, really we were just told to get Fishlegs,"_ Ruffnut explained, pulling into formation and becoming visible by Hookfang's flames.

_"But given what we rescued you from… and how… it's probably better if you all come,"_ Tuffnut followed up.

_"Ah don' even wanna know,"_ Spitelout grumbled miserably.

_"So what am I flying into exactly?"_ Fishlegs groaned with just as much enthusiasm. _"Aside from this infinite void of darkness."_

Dreamer barked at him in mock-offense; night was the _perfect_ time to be flying.

_"Oh, Stormfly's gone crazy, and Astrid can't work it out,"_ Tuffnut explained mildly._ Speaking of, she's gonna hang you up by your ears if you don't bring your books back, so go back and get them if you need to."_

_"What? The Dragonese book? It's still on Berk. Unlike _some_ of us, I only need _one_ explanation for why an idea is stupid."_

_"Well you better find it after you fix Stormfly."_

Dreamer tuned out the conversation after a while, just focusing on the flight, and it died down once Hookfang's flames burned out anyway. They flew on in silence, the calm tailwind a pleasant push to the journey. Mostly he focused on the water below, and the scattered reflections of the lights in the sky above. Perhaps halfway through the trip the cloud cover quickly became more solid though, and completely obscured the sky. He could scent rain on the air, but recent, not upcoming.

"Hey," he said to Fishlegs and pulled in next to him as Berk manifested as a speck on the horizon. "Need talk about that nest-alpha."

_"Hiccup?"_ Fishlegs asked, looking around. _"What's up?"_

Hiccup chirped, getting the boy facing the right direction. "That nest-alpha. We not can show him how get scale-wing-hunters."

_"Uh, can we have this conversation when I can actually see what you're saying? Or, you know, anything at all?"_

If smacking himself in the face was a possibility, Dreamer would have done it. How had he forgotten how dark it was? He gurgled apologetically and soared a little higher, ears burning in embarrassment.

"What he say?" Wanderer growled quietly, levelling next to him.

"I forget he not can see," Dreamer admitted, self-consciously adjusting himself in the air.

Wanderer looked at him in surprise, then laughed. "Other nest-kin not can see good when dark like this, not like Nightstriker. Better than Long-Paws, but not good."

"I know," he groaned back. "I not think. This boring."

"We could fly ahead?"

Dreamer hummed, considering that. They didn't really need to be here… but just leaving everyone alone in the darkness would be rude, and he couldn't actually communicate properly to tell anyone what he wanted to do. He couldn't even ask Hookfang to light up, as he'd burned himself off earlier. "No, we stay. We nearly there."

The night journey ended uneventfully, well before midnight, the others gliding down to the village while Dreamer and Wanderer looped over it. At the twins' insistence, Fishlegs went straight for Astrid's house, figuring that for Stormfly it would be worth being woken in the night; they'd been expected back around midday, so they were late enough already.

As with the journey out, the long trip back hadn't really tired Dreamer, but… something about returning home set a weariness into him, a desire to curl up and sleep. He yawned widely, blinking in sudden drowsiness, as Wanderer himself yawned squeakily nearby.

Completing their loop of the village, they turned for their den set into the cliff above the stable, their dark and inviting little cave. After sleeping locked in a barn for almost a week, then one night huddled in the roots of a tree out in the open forest of Forget Me, he–

_"Hiccup! Toothy!"_

Both their ears went up at the distant call, and both of them groaned. What could Fishlegs want _now_ of all times? Actually, that wasn't all that difficult to work out. "Must be for Storm-Fly," he reasoned aloud, as that was what he had gone to investigate.

"I want help Storm-Fly," Wanderer agreed as they pulled out of their descent and turned back to the village.

Fishlegs was where Dreamer expected him to be, standing outside Astrid's house, though Astrid herself appeared to still be inside. The Nightstrikers landed and bounded to a stop next to him, though he looked confused. _"Astrid, they're here."_

Astrid backed out of her house, pulling the door closed, then started walking down the village. Wanderer snorted, and Dreamer had to agree; that had been _rude._ She hadn't so much as looked at them, and the hood on the thick coat she wore had obscured her face. Wrrr, she was more of a morning person…

He shook his head and warbled enquiringly at Fishlegs.

_"I dunno, she just told me she needed you guys,"_ he said with a confused shrug._ "And apparently we're going to see Gobber."_

Gobber? How bad _was_ this? He crooned worriedly as they followed after Astrid, who trudged along ahead.

Gobber's house was near the forge, which was near the docks for convenience, so it wasn't far. Astrid knocked, and there was sound from inside presumably as Gobber fitted his leg and lit a lamp or something.

There was something eerie about all this, but he had trouble putting his claw on it. Not that it was the middle of the night, more something to do with the near dead silence around them. But that wasn't unusual at night.

It took about as long as it had for them to walk there, but eventually the door swung open and Astrid walked inside.

_"Gobber?"_ Fishlegs asked as he followed her in, looking around. _"What's this about?"_

Dreamer had never seen inside Gobber's house before, despite being his apprentice for a few years, and looked around curiously as he entered. It was simple, though there was subtly a lot more iron around than anywhere else; in fixtures, random ornaments, many of the prosthetics hanging on one wall, just little things here and there. It was generally quite organised too, a lot of clutter around but a sort of neat clutter.

It was the sort of state Dreamer figured he would have kept himself if he'd grown up a blacksmith and alone. Except that even living on his own, Gobber somehow managed to match the sour musk of a dozen or more Vikings living together.

_Clunk,_ the door closing behind them raised an ear. _Clack,_ the latch sliding into place a moment later raised the other.

Before Dreamer could even acknowledge the rapidly growing unease, a heavy rumbling had him spin – and then back away with a loud hiss, mirroring Wanderer, flashing teeth and crouching low.

Gobber tugged his hook from the dresser he'd just dragged in front of the door, looking at them sadly, and it was immediately evident why Astrid hadn't spoken or let them see her; she looked downcast, defeated, and overwhelmed by guilt. _"I'm sorry,"_ she whispered.


	27. Manoeuvre

**_Author's Notes_**

_A lot of this chapter came out all at once, which was a great way to keep on top of the story this month what with visiting family and a damn cold I can't seem to shake. It did make editing a bit of a trial though, my thanks to VigoGrimborne on FFN for checking things over for me._

* * *

Dreamer frantically took in the situation – door barred, no windows, two likely hostile Long-Paws plus Fish-Legs. He ruled out a back door, this house practically overlooked a cliff, and if there was one it would be barred too.

_"I'm sorry…"_ That might have been more believable if Astrid had actually been looking at anyone while saying it, instead of staring at the floor.

_"For what, exactly?"_ Fishlegs demanded, stepping in front of the Nightstrikers. _"What's this really about? Clearly not Stormfly."_

_"It was, but… Gods this is so messed up…"_

_"It's an order,"_ Gobber said darkly. _"The Furies ah ter be captured. Step aside."_

Captured!? He'd gathered as much, but hearing Gobber _say_ it made him-

Fishlegs held out a placating hand, urging them to silence their growls. _"I can't believe Stoick would order that."_

_"Yer righ', he wouldn'. Step. Aside."_

_"But hospitality-"_

_"You know tha' ended the moment they left our waters."_ Gobber took a step forward, and Fishlegs shrank back with the big man towering over him. _"Now."_

Whatever was going on here, Fishlegs wasn't going to save them; it was just too big for him to handle. But what _was_ going on!? Dreamer shoved all that aside for now and frantically glanced around, noting the lights in the room and reading Wanderer, who glanced back at him before sizing up Gobber.

Okay… He could take Astrid, just distract her or tangle her up long enough to put out the two lamps and torch; the lamps were designed to extinguish if knocked over, and he figured if dragons could breathe fire then he could extinguish the torch in his mouth. Both Nightstrikers coiled onto their hindlegs, on a hair trigger.

All it took was for Gobber to place his hooked arm against Fishlegs' side, and firmly push him out of the way.

Dreamer launched forward, darted around Gobber and rammed head-first into Astrid's midsection, carrying her into the wall just behind her. She doubled over with a grunt, wrapping her arms weakly around his neck even as she did so, but he just threw his head to the side and tossed her to the floor.

Wanderer grunted behind him, but scrabbling of claws on wood said he was still fighting. Dreamer slapped the first lantern with his tail, sending it tumbling to land on its side, and the room dimmed slightly. He leapt to the other one and knocked it over as well, in his haste doing so a little more forcefully than was necessary.

The torch was in an iron bracket on the wall over the hearth, and did a good job of lighting the room. Dreamer crossed the distance in a single leap, then reared up to-

Cold metal hooked around his foreleg, and he yelped as he was yanked away. Wanderer was getting to his paws again and leaped forward in a storm of teeth and claws – he was _not_ holding back – but only found wood and metal, Gobber expertly fending him off with his prosthetics and a shield he'd pulled from somewhere.

The burly Viking had put himself in front of the torch, staring grimly at the Nightstrikers, but Dreamer couldn't pay further attention to that. He spun to deal with Astrid, who was no doubt getting back-

_Sound._ It was suddenly all that existed. Noise, a metallic ringing accompanied by a wooden echo, drilled through Dreamer's ears and hammered on the inside of his head, on his very mind, distorting his vision so much he was no longer sure which way he was facing. He couldn't even _see_ anymore, was only vaguely aware of tripping and hitting the floor, barely aware of his own shrieks of pain. Clamping his paws over his ears helped, but not nearly enough.

Finally, the assault on his senses ceased… mostly. There was a lot of shouting, but it was a distant noise. He might have blacked out, had no idea how long it had been, no way to know.

There was still an argument going on, and he strained his ears to pick out something, _anything._ It was… Fishlegs arguing with Astrid. And in the background of that…

Wanderer's panicked whimpers reeled his mind back into focus, almost painfully dragging it through the fog clouding it. His eyes snapped open and he snarled through his clenched teeth, pulling himself to his paws through sheer force of will, only one thought in his mind. There was suddenly weight on his back, but it didn't matter, it wasn't enough to stop him, didn't stem the promises of retribution and death crackling from his throat.

A wide form loomed over him and something soft lay across his jaw, but it was inconsequential, as was the sorrowful whisper. What mattered was Wanderer, and alleviating his distress; however that needed to be done.

The hand slid further back, and fingertips firmly pressed into the sensitive bundle of nerves he'd discovered on Wanderer long ago in the cove. It quickly pressed down on his thoughts and walled off his rage, and the last thing he knew was collapsing with a groan.

* * *

Fishlegs glared at Astrid as Hiccup collapsed under her; it seemed the fastest – and possibly _only_ – way to diffuse the situation. He kept his hands on the wide jaw to lower it gently to the ground. "You'll regret this," he told her darkly.

"I already regret it," she mumbled, then climbed off to kneel next to him and grabbed a bundle of rope from against the wall. "But I don't have a choice. We'll just have to get them back again."

"Because that worked _so_ well last time," he sneered, gently stroking Hiccup's head, then stood up and walked over to Toothy as Gobber finished restraining him in thick ropes; his frantic thrashing had probably made it very difficult for a Viking with one hand, but somehow Gobber had managed. "I'm sorry," he repeated quietly, then pressed the same point on Toothy's neck, and the dragon went limp and silent with a sigh. Much more merciful than drumming a tankard into a table, that had hurt Fishlegs' ears and he wasn't even a dragon.

And now, in the silence, he allowed himself to shudder and fear. That was a sound he'd now heard from both Furies, and had no desire to ever hear again, a sound that thoroughly and flawlessly mixed together every sound of death that Fishlegs knew. With a larger Fury, and in this enclosed space…

"Yeh weren' kiddin' abou' tha' sound," Gobber said quietly. Even he, the seasoned dragon slayer who had seemingly effortlessly held off Toothy and then Hiccup as well for those few short moments, looked nervous and shaken.

Fishlegs apologetically stroked Toothy's head. After everything he and Hiccup had done for Berk, for the whole Archipelago, they were being betrayed. Again.

The words were in his mouth, words he desperately wanted to say. _This is Hiccup Haddock and Toothless you're betraying._ But they wouldn't form. He just couldn't make that first sound. Part of it was a voice of reason that said Hiccup wouldn't have wanted it, and that it would complicate things to no end, _if_ he was even believed, which was unlikely. There was also a crippling fear of the unknown, as he had absolutely no idea how it would be received, and seeing the wisdom in why Hiccup had kept it hidden in the first place; real magic was a dangerous thing to allude to on Berk.

Whatever angle he approached it from was like another wall in front of saying those words.

He shook his head and turned to address Astrid, who was half-heartedly wrapping ropes around Hiccup. "I believe you were about to tell me what in _Odin's name_ you're doing!?"

"Easy lad," Gobber grumbled as he waddled past, "this ain' 'er fault."

"It kind of is," Astrid replied quietly, dropping the ropes and letting Gobber take over. "I let him into the village."

"You ain' go' tha' privilege, yeh jus' greeted 'im."

"I ignored Stormfly's warnings. Couldn't understand her. She said he hurt _'fledglings'_, and that meant me, which was nonsense… And you took your stupid books!"

It took Fishlegs a moment to recognise the Dragonese word. "'Fledglings'. And no, I didn't. Wait… He hurt fledglings?" He inhaled sharply as he put everything together; what Astrid was alluding to but with the additional information of Stormfly's warning… "She must have meant the Furies, and you would have recognised Dagur, so-"

"He even called himself _Aldin,"_ Astrid groaned.

"And you're giving them both back to that monster," Fishlegs said down to her.

"Now listen 'ere," Gobber said, levelling his hook at Fishlegs before resuming tying the ropes. "She didn' 'ave a choice. It don' matter _who_ 'e is, 'e's go' Stoick, an' 'e's demandin' the Furies. Berk's law is clear, any price is ter be paid, an' they're only dragons."

Fishlegs glared at him incredulously, but Gobber just shrugged. "Either way, any price. All the elders agreed."

"Did anyone consider asking _them?"_ Fishlegs asked angrily.

"Given yer the only one who can talk to 'em properly, no. Yeh gotta see it from their perspective."

"No, because I'm apparently the only one seeing it from theirs," he shot back, gesturing at the Furies, then kicked aside the dresser barring the door and stormed out of the house. He knew it was futile, once a decision like this was made it was as difficult to change it as to move a mountain, but he had to try; if for no other reason than because the alternative meant accepting what was happening.

* * *

A tentative nudge roused Alvin from a light sleep, Savage carefully tapping his boot. "They's comin'."

That immediately got Alvin to his feet, though his neck and shoulders vehemently burned their complaints at moving. It was good he had planned all of this out in advance; while he was fairly good at sectioning off and ignoring pain, it was still distracting and would make him prone to mistakes.

No matter. He was getting what he wanted. He strode through the dark after Savage to the tall bluff just in time to see Stoick hoisted several feet into the air, dangling on a rope draped over a thick tree branch above, and hanging out over the edge. Some torches were also being lit and set up for a more dramatic effect.

It took several minutes for the group to appear below, a single Outcast leading three Hooligans who looked to be the blacksmith, Astrid, and an older man he didn't recognise. None of them looked particularly capable of causing trouble, not that they could in the situation they were in.

He stroked his moustache. It was tempting to just take over Berk and be done with it, but there were still a lot of weapons the Hooligans could use, and it would probably mean fighting the dozen or so dragons they had with riders. Such a fight would be bloody for both sides, and while he didn't care for the lives of the scum he ruled, he doubted it would leave him with a very secure hold on the island.

No, best to just take what he was sure he could get.

"Well, let's make this brief," he called down, "as I am certain you have a few fools trying to sneak around as I speak. It is a long walk, but we should not dally." Though anything less than twenty warriors would quickly be overwhelmed, not that _they_ knew that. "To be honest for once, I don't actually want to see Stoick dead or deposed, I just want my dragons, so I've set this up nice and fair. Attach my Furies to the rope, and as Stoick returns to you, they'll be returned to me."

He eyed the dark shapes being slung off the backs of the two older Vikings, wondering if Stoick would actually be heavy enough to move them. If not, they had plenty of manpower to hoist it along. "No funny business though… It's a looooong way down. Best make sure it's nice and taught when you tie it too, don't want to test how much of a jolt this rope can take."

"You poisonous snake!" Astrid shouted up while the other two complied. "You'll never get away with this! We're going to hunt you down and skin you alive!"

"I'm sure you'll try," Alvin replied smugly. He watched with some curiosity as she hunched over both Furies, putting a hand to their necks and glaring up at him all the while.

As soon as they were secured he nodded to the two pinning the rope, and they let it go as gradually as they could, the Hooligan Chief dropping about a foot to pick up the slack.

Whatever the difference in weight, it was apparently not enough to drag the course rope over the smoothed and greased trough in the branch; that was impressive actually, the two dragons had grown considerably in the last few months. They were hauled up, Stoick acting as a counterbalance to lighten the load and speed the process. Alvin actually saw the moment the Chief saw what was happening and began straining to break free, but even his prodigious strength was no match for the sheer number of ropes he was practically entombed in.

In no time at all the dragons were being swung in onto the bluff, leaving Stoick hanging just out of reach of those below, as he had been hoisted up a short way before the Furies were attached. At some point Alvin had devised a big gloating speech for this moment, but he could no longer remember half of it and now just couldn't be bothered. He wanted off this cursed island. He drew his sword and cut the rope, then made off through the dark forest with his prizes.

* * *

The spot behind a Nightstriker's jaw was a sensitive place under the hide, similar to an overused and cramped muscle. Wanderer's now also ached in the same way, having been pressed repeatedly by the traitorous female and then struck by one whose scent tugged frantically at his memory in the scant moments of groggy consciousness he was afforded.

He was waking again, far less rapidly than the first time, and groaned at the stiffness creeping down his neck. An assenting grumble pricked his ears, a sound wholly welcome and yet at the same time not, as it meant Dreamer was trapped there with him.

The panic of having his wings, legs and mouth tightly bound, however, was creeping in again; being knocked unconscious any number of times would not assuage that reaction. He whimpered and struggled, feebly at first but gaining strength with every rapid breath. His bindings creaked but did not break, and the one around his head felt like cold hard metal.

A worried but calming croon sounded beside him, and something brushed his shoulder. He flinched away at first, but quickly recognised Dreamer's warm breath on his scales and managed to roll so they could see each other. "Not worry," Dreamer said confidently, though with a trace of _fear_ and _concern_. The metal bindings wrapping around and in front of his face did not help his image.

Wanderer whined disbelievingly. As much as he hated to admit it, he recognised these scents, the type of raised surface he was on, and the hard binding around his leg; very specific things that pointed at the one who had taken him last season-cycle, who had deprived him of claw and tooth before starving and torturing him for its own unfathomable reasons.

"Not worry," Dreamer repeated, determination in his eyes. "We not dead now, so they not want us dead." He leaned forward, as much as one could when lying on their front and totally bound, and purred darkly, almost a growl. "We together. We strong."

Together… And yet… "I not strong enough for this," Wanderer whined.

Dreamer sighed, his bright green eyes speaking _compassion, love, sympathy._ "Stay with me. Whatever you need do, not lose your thinking. I get us free."

"He too careful, not think he slip again."

"Again?" Dreamer warbled. "This Long-Paw that take you last season-cycle? Long-Paw you…" His nose scrunched. "…eat paw?"

"Yes." That much was certain.

But rather than despair, Dreamer grinned smugly. "He want teach us. He not need to."

Wanderer wished he felt his confidence, but he didn't understand. This was Dreamer's territory, and the trust he had in his friend-mate was balanced by the pain and torment he had experienced before; he just couldn't see anyone getting them out of this.

The ground was swaying, he realised, meaning they were being taken away again. For a long time all he could do was waste his energy trying to break free, then listen to the water slapping against the flat trees surrounding them and the stomping around above them. A torturously familiar wait, unable to move and dreading what was coming, but nothing happening until long after his stomach was complaining its emptiness.

He couldn't sleep, couldn't rest, but nor could he move or flee or fight or anything. It was maddening. Dreamer's comforting croons and big expressive eyes were probably the only thing that held him to reality. Dreamer was here, Dreamer would know what to do.

That faith was challenged when a familiar Long-Paw with sharp teeth entered the room, brandishing a familiar large claw.

* * *

"Er… Boss? You better come see this…"

Alvin groaned and rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the early morning sky. Couldn't anyone do _anything_ without him personally overseeing it? He desperately needed rest; he'd been far too busy setting things up to get much sleep on Berk. "You did it before, just do it again."

"I told you they's bigger now! But that's not what I's sayin'..."

Something about the tone piqued Alvin's curiosity; it wasn't fear or anger, but rather a wary amazement. He sighed and got to his feet, suppressing the pain with sheer willpower, and took a moment to glance at the fleet around him. About twenty boats strong, most of what he could muster, to dissuade and confound pursuit. There did not yet seem to be any dragons following them, but then they weren't even out of sight of Berk yet.

He stared at the open hatch to the hold for a long moment, wondering how such a simple task could have become so difficult, then climbed down into the hold as delicately as he could. This had better be good…

His Furies were on the table, the manacles holding them despite the open door – there was little else preventing one of them from leaving, as he realised with a start that most of its ropes had been removed, and while an iron muzzle secured its teeth there was nothing to stop it using its claws. It blinked at him and then sat there nonplussed, watching them.

While Savage hadn't been correct before, he was now; Alvin was going to enjoy watching his mauling for dragging him down because he couldn't do his job properly.

But Savage approached it with only the usual wariness, picking up the heavy knife from a box against the wall on the way. He approached a little to the side so Alvin could see it, and it stared back at him. The bound Fury struggled and growled shrilly, but the unbound Fury…

Alvin's eyes widened as it casually put its paw forward, its gaze casually going between him and the knife. Savage was standing in front of the other, obscuring its reaction, but its throes were rocking the heavy table and it was by no means quiet.

Savage glanced back at him, then held the knife over the claws, too lightly to be intending on doing anything with it. It soon became clear why, the paw was whipped away with a growl, and the dragon then deliberately shook its head. It rapped the tips of its claws on the table, then lowered itself and held the paw out again, but this time with the pad and hooked claws pointing upwards; it had to lean to the side to do so, its joints not quite flexible enough otherwise.

It stared impassively as its claws were cut, much more neatly and cleanly than Savage had managed the first time, then held the paw up and flexed it curiously. Apparently satisfied, it nodded at Alvin, who could only stare as the remainder of its claws were trimmed in painless moments.

"That… is something," Alvin admitted slowly. "Will the other cooperate now too?" That was met with a short but fierce growl from the previously placid Fury, its eyes narrow slits and its teeth showing through the muzzle.

That couldn't be a coincidence. "Do you understand me, dragon?" It relaxed its expression, but indicated nothing either way. "Well we don't need the other one anyway. Truss it up and toss it over the port rail." The smallest response, its ears twitching and pupils narrowing a little further. Alvin was no expert on dragon mannerisms though, so it wasn't quite proof…

Savage, on the other hand, did a double-take. "What!? You dun _really_ want me to…?"

_Tch,_ the downside of working with gullible morons. If the dragon _did_ understand, it was _much_ smarter than his lackey…

* * *

_Crack… Crack… Thunk. Crack… Crack… Thunk._

The sounds were rhythmic, and somehow synchronised whether intentional or not. Fishlegs hadn't even tried sleeping, and of course it was far too late for anyone to do anything by the time he even got Aunt Ragnhild out of bed and learned just how bleak things were; Outcast fleet on the island, most of the stock of weapons useless, and Stoick kidnapped. It was ironic that Hiccup was probably the one who would know what to do.

So, unable to do anything, he had eaten. A lot. He ate until his aunt returned from checking in with Stoick, by which time the house's food stores were practically empty. On his way to the storehouse to get more, he had decided to investigate the regular sound echoing faintly down the village and found the Chief splitting wood in front of his house, enormous logs almost as wide as Fishlegs himself. Astrid was also there, some of the logs stacked to provide a target for her to throw her axe at.

_Crack… Crack… Thunk._

Devoid of anything better to do, Fishlegs plopped himself down and listened to them work the wood, Stoick methodically breaking it into smaller and smaller pieces and Astrid reducing a gnarly knot into a splintered mess. At some point he'd got his notebook out and begun doodling Night Furies, though he didn't remember when. Thinking seemed pointless, they'd all been through this before.

Not quite the first to rise, but the first to acknowledge them, was surprisingly the twins, announcing themselves early in the dawn. "Please don't tell me I have to punch someone," Tuffnut groaned as he approached. "As much as I like punching people, I prefer not needing a reason. Reasons suck."

"I dunno," Ruffnut mused, "having a reason makes it more satisfying… Though we should probably do something about that fleet on the horizon."

_Crack!_ The next log split so hard one of the halves whizzed past Fishlegs' shoulder to land somewhere behind him, and Stoick tossed the wood splitter aside and stomped off towards the Great Hall.

"…Something I said?"

"It's an Outcast fleet," Astrid said bluntly. "That Aldin guy was actually Alvin."

Tuffnut froze, and Ruffnut glanced at him before stepping forward. "Uhh, somethin' we should know?" she asked quietly.

"They got Stoick," Astrid replied in a tired and flat tone. "We had to trade the Furies to get him back." She didn't even try to avoid Ruffnut's punch, taking it straight in the cheek and staggering from the impact.

"You want in on this?" Ruffnut growled back at her brother.

"Hiccy? Toothy?" Tuffnut looked dazed. "See, what did I tell you about reasons!? I can't-… I don't even want… You don't deserve…" He turned and dropped to sit on his heels, rocking back and forth a little.

"Eh, suit yourself." Ruffnut socked Astrid again right as she regained her balance, this time knocking her onto her side. "Two dragons, two hits. You good?" She offered a hand, which Astrid accepted to help her to her feet.

"Thanks Ruff…"

"Anytime. So, what's the plan?"

"Well, the village is practically defenceless so we've all been ordered to stay within sight until Gobber can fix the damaged weapons, which will take a few days," Fishlegs supplied, going back to his drawing. "We also don't know which ship they're on, and the fleet is too big to assault anyway. Even if we _were_ allowed to go, they're likely to split up into twice as many targets as we can follow." He threw his pencil into the pile of wood Stoick had left behind and snapped the notebook shut. "And that's assuming they're even _on_ one of those boats! For all we know he's still here, just waiting to take over the island!" That had been one of the biggest concerns brought up by the elders, and it was a reasonable one.

"Screw this." Tuffnut abruptly stood up and brought his fingers to his mouth to whistle, Ruffnut copying him to create the dual pitch to summon their dragon. "We're gonna go drop rocks on those sick cowards. Big ones. Weighed down with _malice_, and _retribution_."

"I like where your mind's at," Ruffnut said with a grin.

"But we all have to stay here!" Fishlegs protested. As much as he hated to admit it, those boats could be near empty with the remainder of the crews waiting for everyone to take off after the bait.

"One less dragon won't make a difference, and we won't be long," Ruffnut said casually while they waited. "Just go out one at a time and we can sink three ships between us.

"Two," Astrid murmured. "Stormfly isn't… I went to her last night, but I dunno… She…"

"Well duh," Tuffnut shot back levelly, "that's probably because she wants to know what you did to look guilty enough to have betrayed and sold a respected friend." Barf and Belch landed heavily next to him, and both twins climbed into their saddles. "Oh, _wait."_ The dragon then launched itself into the air and disappeared from sight.

Fishlegs watched them go, then got to his feet with a sigh and whistled through his fingers to summon his own dragon. "Come on Astrid, might as well try to patch things up with Stormfly."

* * *

Alvin picked one of the two Valkyries out of the Maces and Talons box, then kicked the box across the room. His smaller Fury watched him curiously as he set the piece down on the table next to it, then as he unlocked and removed its shackle. "Fetch," he commanded, pointing at the piece and then to the box.

He was curious how this Fury would react. The bigger one, still tied up and growling constantly, had retrieved the whole box, which was something Alvin had wholeheartedly approved of; why only have one when you can have many? So he was satisfied, if not particularly surprised, when this Fury did the same, actually lifting the box in its forelegs and waddling across the room with it to set it on the table. The books he'd stolen said they were highly intelligent, but failed to do them justice.

However, what he most certainly did _not_ expect was for his Fury to then take all the pieces out and lay them out in their correct places on an imaginary board, fumbling due to its wide paws. Alvin stared slack-jawed at it as it nudged a piece forward, making the first move, then stared back at him expectantly.

It was _this_ one. _This_ was the 'fang-free' dragon he needed, he had no doubt of that. The irony that it was the one he had given to the Berserkers, because it was smaller, was not lost on him. Like the ticking thing made him a master of time, this would make him a master of… well, what _couldn't_ he do with a Night Fury at his beck and call? One that understood complex commands and concepts, who could eavesdrop, assassinate, and traverse his Archipelago faster than a boat could sail to the next island over.

And it was not immediately aggressive towards him like every other dragon. It might even be a connection to tamed dragons, ferrying messages in hours instead of days, hauling loot skimmed from villages. Forget the other King's Things, he could easily conquer with just these two. Though, he _would_ look good in a crown, particularly now to hide his bald head.

As much as Alvin wanted to see how well it could actually play the game, he turned and left the room, telling Savage to feed them on the way through the hold. It was playing _his_ game, not the other way around. It had yet to truly learn who was in charge here.

* * *

At the start of the second night, Dreamer had a bit of a strange task that he was not particularly looking forward to. After missing three meals and now approaching the fourth, Wanderer was starting to look a bit desperate, though he still wouldn't consider allowing his claws to be trimmed; Dreamer couldn't blame him for that, wincing at the thought of having them cut from the top as the full weight of the cut would be taken by the claw's connection into the paw.

The conflict must have been driving Wanderer mad, it was evident in his eyes every time Alvin – now inexplicably missing his eyebrows and every hair off his head – entered the room. The first time had been the worst, when Dreamer had been given two fish, tried to give one to Wanderer, and subsequently had that one taken away.

Dreamer had hoped that by giving Alvin the obviously better choice, he would forget about Wanderer and trying to get him to cooperate, but no such luck.

Now that they were finally alone, and likely to be left alone, he focused, taking stock of his internal muscles and trying to remember what he could of what he had to do. He tested the muscles around his stomach, stumbling on the very peculiar feeling he was blindly looking for, then successfully heaved up one of the two fish he'd been given.

And _that_ was something he never wanted to do again. He gagged and shook his head, then purred _reassurance_ in reply to Wanderer's _grateful, relieved_ whimper.

"No," Wanderer admonished when Dreamer started again. "You need strength. This enough…"

Dreamer huffed, knowing that wasn't true; what he was getting himself wasn't really enough either. "It really not hurt this way," he said gently, laying a paw out in front of him. "Then you can stretch, eat."

A low, weary but determined growl. "I not can do what he want. That how I lose thinking." He whined miserably, curling up to hide his head behind his tail. "Not can do this… not again…"

_Confidence, protect,_ Dreamer purred, settling down so that their ears were touching – all he could manage with how they were shackled by their hindlegs and muzzled – and stretching a wing over his friend.

He did his best to hide that part of him was panicking as well, a horrible itching detached feeling in his tail from having it bound again, unable to spread the fins. There was also a bleak reminder in the padlock clicking against the muzzle whenever he moved, further putting him on edge. He couldn't afford to panic, but it was there all the same, insidious claws that raked over him in intermittent waves.

They needed to get free, and sooner rather than later. For that to happen… He had a plan, of sorts. It was a very basic plan when it came down to it, not that he had a lot to work with here, but it had conditions that needed to be met first. He first needed a modicum of Alvin's trust, and then it was down to circumstance.

He sighed, though he never stopped purring, and thought on the details, anything to get his mind off his tail. Everything that could go right, everything that could go wrong, and everything in between. It all came down to that tiny sliver of trust… But how did one earn the trust of one who could neither trust, nor be trusted?

* * *

With a grimace, Alvin carefully touched his fingertips over his bald head, feeling out the burn that practically covered it. By now he would at least expect some stubble to be poking through, but the blistered skin remained smooth, and having seen these burns before he knew he wasn't likely to ever have hair again. At least the pain was finally subsiding, and he could think a bit more clearly.

Which was good, because he was playing a bit of a delicate game here. He knew dragons could summon each other from long distances, and if he was being followed then letting a Night Fury onto the deck would reveal exactly which boat held them, and thus which to follow.

But, though he had been watching carefully, there was nary a hint of his boat being followed. A few had been sunk in the first day, but as far as he knew none were followed. Which was a pity, because it meant the forty or so Outcasts he'd left behind were probably dead by now. Oh well, this was why he kept most of them as Nameless after all, so nobody remembered them and realised who had been sent to their deaths.

So two days sailing felt like a reasonable distance from Berk to relax a bit; as much as he could with a gateway to Hel itself over his shoulders and head. However, two days was about the time a dragon was able to hold itself, so unless he wanted a heavy stink weighing down the air in the hold, he needed to let them out.

For one of them, that was easy, and he watched it carefully as it roamed the deck; it wasn't going anywhere with its tail bound, and it was mostly harmless with no claws and the heavy muzzle.

For the other, it was not so simple.

He cursed himself for setting a precedent, he should have just had Savage cut both their claws to start with. By letting it have them, he would send the wrong message by cutting them now. His dragons needed to consider him predictable, there would only be pain if they disobeyed, at least in these early stages. On the other hand, he couldn't use it as a punishment either because then it would be rewarded for the pain by being let out, what he now realised as his mistake last time. What a mess.

Doing a double-take, he realised his dragon had its head inside a crate that stored various sailing equipment; the black sail for sneaking around at night, spare ropes, and so on. The reason for his surprise was that it sported two heavy latches so that bad weather could not pry the lid open and spill the contents, but that had been no barrier whatsoever.

It got itself into the tattered scraps kept for repairs, and somehow managed to tangle itself in a large piece with a hole torn through it. It didn't panic, just pawed at it and rolled around, trying to get it off.

As amusing as it was, it couldn't be allowed to have fun. "Savage, put that stuff away and chase it off." But then the way it was wrapped around its paw got his attention, giving him an idea. "Actually, no, tie it up, then go wrap up my other dragon's legs with it."

"You's the boss," Savage slurred back correctly.

A short while later, Savage led the dragon up by the handle on its muzzle, which it looked and sounded most displeased with. Good, it would get better treatment if it cooperated.

And then Alvin burst out laughing as it took a few steps on the deck, swinging its legs in wide exaggerated motions and trying to kick off the scraps of sail tied over the paws; he'd have to remember that if he ever needed any entertainment. His dragon turned at the sound, eyes narrowing on the sword pressed into the smart dragon's shoulder. He grinned at it and tightened his grip on the hilt.

The unruly dragon immediately backed off, taking a step back and silencing its growl, though it glared at him. _Interesting…_ He knew they had a strong connection with each other, but the sheer willpower this one had demonstrated last year had made him think they were made of tougher stuff than this. Apparently, with both of them together, they were as soft and malleable as warm butter.

"You get it, don't you?" Alvin told it, still grinning smugly. "I own you. And this one," he waved the hilt of the sword, "will stay like this until you return to your room." At that, the dragon by his side relaxed and lounged as much as it could, being tightly bound as it was, so he pressed the point of the sword into its shoulder until it twitched and shied in discomfort.

With a huff, his unruly beast awkwardly clambered up next to the figurehead, using it for support, to do its business into the water. When it was done it returned to the hatch and offered a short growl at Alvin, which earned a bit more weight on the sword, and then disappeared down below deck. Savage followed it down, and after a few moments where the only sounds were the wind in the sails and the water rushing past the hull, he lifted the sword away and lay it by its sheathe. The dragon beside him relaxed with a sigh, though its shoulder twitched irritably.

So it had been worried. That was a good start, but it was not submission; if he wanted a blade in its shoulder, it should present it for him to strike. He stroked his moustache with his thumb while he thought. If he could not punish it for disobeying, he would just need to find another way…

* * *

Dreamer yawned, though it was highly unsatisfying with the muzzle preventing his mouth opening more than enough to squeeze in a small fish, and wearily dropped down from the table after Savage undid the shackle.

He was tired and hungry, his tail fins were cramping, and he'd just been woken from what light sleep he was able to get in this accursed situation. _Whatever the master wants,_ he thought wryly, looking forward to proverbially slapping him in the face with his tail and flying away.

When Savage worked on Wanderer's shackle too, Dreamer allowed a mote of hope to blossom, and trotted out to the ladder to climb up onto the deck. He emerged into a calm, partially overcast afternoon, the wind firm but not all that strong, and for some reason the sail was tied up. He sighed, again resigned to waiting on his original plan.

He then couldn't restrain a growl as Savage pulled Wanderer, still bound tightly, up by his muzzle; that had to be painful.

_"No, quiet,"_ Alvin ordered from behind him, and Dreamer clenched his teeth with a deep breath to try to calm himself before turning.

The blistered man was sat in front of a crate, the Maces and Talons board set up on it. Dreamer approached slowly and sat down in front of it, finding all the pieces in the starting positions. Ah, so this would be why the boat was left to drift, so that they could have a game unhindered by pieces falling over.

_"Play to win,"_ Alvin ordered, making the first move while Wanderer was dragged over and dropped to the ground off to the side. Savage stood next to him to watch the game with interest.

Dreamer wanted to grin, but kept an impassive mask over his face. He had been taught the game from a young age, like every potential Chief, and was unmatched on Berk, evenly matched with Stoick from about the age of twelve. By fourteen, he was indisputably the best in the village, though actually finding anyone willing to play was almost impossible. Johann, mostly, and the occasional foreigner.

He didn't know how good Alvin was at it, the game was supposedly designed to test and nurture leadership skills, and while Alvin was certainly a leader it was clear he was of a different kind. Dreamer made the standard response to the opening, awkwardly fumbling with the piece and watching for a reaction; as much of the game was on the board as off it.

The game progressed relatively quickly through the early stages, suggesting he at least had a familiarity with it, but then Alvin slipped up a bit, allowing Dreamer to capture a longship. Dreamer removed the piece from the board, setting it aside, then moved one of his warriors onto the beach tile it had occupied. A sacrifice, but that was another of the lessons; given an equal playing field, forces, and opponent, he would need to expect to lose pieces. It was just part of battle.

Really, it was better to just avoid the battle in the first place, or come better prepared.

Alvin moved his piece forward, capturing the warrior, which was firmly placed on the side of the board-

A pained yelp caught Dreamer off-guard, snapping his gaze up to see Savage lifting his boot from Wanderer's back, which he'd clearly just stomped on. Dreamer growled at Savage, then turned it on Alvin.

_"Quiet, play,"_ Alvin commanded with a vindictive grin and a gesture at the board.

So, that was how it was. Alvin had not punished them for taking a piece, but for losing one, that had been clear by the emphasis on the taken piece. He wanted Dreamer to win without losing anything…

That would likely be impossible. Dreamer was certain he could win, but how many pieces he lost in the process would depend on Alvin, and even Snotlout was usually able to take a few. It wasn't looking good.

He thought quickly, eyes flicking over the board. If that had been the punishment for a single warrior, what would be the price of losing a Longboat? Or his Valkyrie? The sound of the Nadder's wing snapping echoed in his head. That wasn't a risk he could take.

But what would be the punishment for _losing?_

Dreamer took the opportunity to strengthen his right-side defences, which he had planned on anyway, to give himself more time to think. Alvin was greedy, he wouldn't permanently damage either Nighstriker, and as a last resort nothing was permanent anyway; just _really_ inconvenient. He concluded that losing would not carry any hefty price, not when such harsh conditions had been imposed.

But he _had_ been told to play to win, so he couldn't be seen to throw the game. He had to at least try.

Several more moves in, his spirits were taking a heavy beating. He had been offered a few increasingly beneficial trades, but he couldn't take them, particularly not for a minor advantage when he already had the upper paw. Alvin, however, was proving a competent player, and…

Dreamer surmised his mind was still developing, as he was feeling its limitations now that the game was growing more complex. He remembered plotting out four and five moves in advance, but at the moment all he could manage was two; past that point everything got too fuzzy to keep track of. Impressive, given he was barely over two years old, but a crippling limitation in his current situation.

Alvin's traitor was suddenly brought into play and took out two more warriors, earning two more stomps on Wanderer. The first had been unavoidable, the second an oversight while Dreamer was distracted.

And he _was_ distracted, mostly by Wanderer's suppressed whimpers but even down to not even being able to hold the pieces properly. It was all grating on him in a way that made him frustrated and impatient.

Abruptly, he decided to switch tactics, and took some time to plan. He was playing from a disadvantage, but in two more moves had taken out the traitor, so there would be no more surprise beatings. He breathed a sigh of relief at that.

Next, rather than shore up his defences, he spread them out, an aggressive strategy that opened holes in his defences but in a way that left none of his pieces in danger. Alvin did not hesitate to capitalise, but Dreamer quickly did the same on the other side of the board.

This was a very strange game. No Chief would ever play like this, because it involved baiting out the opponent's defences, but that left him always one move behind. Two moves, even, because he had to ensure the safety of his pieces in a strange perversion of the way he played when he was younger.

This was a mess. He took Alvin's Valkyrie, but at the expense of another warrior and another pained yelp. He could _feel_ the impact through the deck, and shot fleeting glances of _apology, regret, sympathy_, at his friend. The looks he got back were of confusion and pain, of course he didn't understand what was happening and that made everything even worse.

Dreamer might now have a piece advantage, but not a strategic one; his own Valkyrie was pinned down, and his longboats were too far away to be of any help.

Unless… He stretched his thoughts as far as they would go, trying to see past that second move ahead. Hesitantly, for he was not sure, he played his traitor.

It was a nasty piece, one that replaced one of the opponent's warriors, a reminder that even your own soldiers could be your enemies. However, despite its special abilities, it was a relatively weak piece, and the sort of plays it was used for always left it deep within enemy territory. It rarely survived the game.

However, the frenzied offense had left most of Dreamer's powerful pieces in enemy territory, so it wasn't an instant death. Alvin took a long moment to think before making the predicted move, Dreamer quickly following up.

And this was where things had been hazy… Alvin's move was unexpected, but ultimately irrelevant. Dreamer completely cornered his Chief, forcing him into action… by cornering and then taking Dreamer's own Chief.

He held his breath while Alvin inspected the piece, turning it over in his fingers. He gave Dreamer a flat look, then delicately set it on the table.

A single, last kick, and it was over. Dreamer slumped with a groan, weary and broken-spirited. Wanderer was dragged back to the hatch and lowered down, and Dreamer headed down after them. Alvin made no move to stop him.

He followed them inside the room at the back, then curled up around Wanderer, who had been dumped in the middle of the floor. "I sorry," he whimpered with a nuzzle, then began licking gently at his shoulders and back.

His best friend was silent for a while, but then twisted to bump his head against Dreamer. "Not be sorry. My hurts pain you more than pain me…"

"But you hurt because I…"

Wanderer huffed. "You strong, Dreamer, so strong… If he hurt you like this, I… I not know what I do…"

Dreamer understood; he would have happily taken the beatings in Wanderer's place and smiled for it. Alvin knew this, that was why Wanderer was suffering, and if he really _did_ want to focus on Wanderer…

But that didn't bear thinking about. Especially because Dreamer had just realised something.

Savage had locked them in the room without shackling them. He'd earned his sliver of trust.

* * *

It took a full day for that trust to manifest in the inevitable way. This was now the fourth light of the journey, wherever it led, but Dreamer had no intention of seeing the destination. It wasn't the same place Wanderer had been rescued from, that was a different direction, so their best chance was escaping before then.

And that required a firm breeze, impatience, and Alvin releasing his tail.

Dreamer immediately swung the appendage around and kneaded the numb fins with his paws, then tried to stick them in his mouth and partially succeeded through the muzzle. The contact to release the bonds had been torturous, as expected, but expanding the wide fins in front of his face was indescribably freeing.

Of course, he still couldn't just fly away. That was what Alvin was counting on, and he certainly wasn't leaving Wanderer here on his own. He'd explained his plan to his friend, and that it might result in one more punishment. As long as it even had a chance of freeing them, Wanderer was all in.

And so, body shaking with trepidation, he leapt into the air and tentatively revelled in returning to the sky.

Alvin had just told him to fly, not do anything specific, but he was hungry. Might as well make something of it. He banked after a school of fish and dove into them, forgetting that the muzzle prevented him from opening his mouth and leaving his prey to bounce off his face and slip from his blunt claws. How aggravating.

He kicked down into the water, then powered up out of it and caught the air again to glide back to the boat and circle around it.

_"Come,"_ Alvin ordered.

This last part perhaps wasn't totally necessary, but as far as Dreamer could work out it dramatically improved their odds; a lot could go wrong otherwise. Dreamer ignored him. _"Come!"_ Alvin repeated demandingly, but Dreamer just flew higher.

Alvin barked down into the hatch and glared up at him. The moment Wanderer was hauled onto the deck, still muzzled with his paws and wings bound to his body and tail fins tightly wrapped, Dreamer landed and shook himself off. Now neither of them could be trapped in the hold. And hopefully…

No bark of pain sounded from Wanderer, but Alvin immediately stomped up to Dreamer. That wasn't good. He shied back from the anger in Alvin's expression, recognising the way he moved and knowing what was coming. The boot that impacted his shoulder knocked him onto his side, but Wanderer had been right; this was far less painful.

Alvin seemed to realise that, and stormed back to Wanderer. This was it, he had to make his move _now_. Wanderer grunted, his understanding and agreement taking the edge off the brief assault in the time it took Dreamer to rise and trot briskly to the back of the ship.

His wing shot out and took the Outcast manning the rudder completely by surprise, striking him in the side of the knee; a limb that could hold a Nightstriker in the air all day needed a ludicrous amount of strength behind it. The man crumpled even as he reached for his weapon.

But nobody got a chance to react more than that. Dreamer set his paws on the rudder and _heaved,_ digging what was left of his rear claws into the irregularities between the boards of the deck to walk it forward.

The boat immediately made a sharp turn, throwing everyone to one side, the downed Outcast almost colliding with Dreamer. The water then found itself rushing at the side of the boat and abruptly arrested its momentum, throwing everyone and everything in the other direction and leaving the boat leaning precariously in the water.

With the advantage of four legs and having braced himself, Dreamer wasted no time bouncing heavily off the injured Outcast's chest, feeling ribs crack under his paws, over to the second one now leaning against the rail. A wing aimed at his throat struck him in the chest and shoulder, but sent him over the edge and into the water. Two down.

He leapt at Savage, headbutting him in the groin and striking his knee with a paw to bring him down, then a wing struck him in the temple. His eyes rolled back as he fell.

And that left Alvin, just getting to his feet as the boat righted itself. Dreamer snarled at him, unleashing all the anger that had been building up over the last few days, and bounded forward.

Alvin found his footing quickly and lunged for his sword, but Dreamer managed to grapple his leg and bring him to the ground. The sword suddenly whizzed over his head, almost taking off his ears, and Alvin was scrambling to his feet a moment later.

Dreamer dodged forward under the sword, stopping next to Alvin and bracing himself to lash out with his tail – it collided with a sickening, splintering crack, not just breaking the ankle, but _shattering_ it. The vile Long-Paw didn't even have time to scream, Dreamer driving a wing up and back to keep Alvin off-balance and then spinning to headbutt him over the edge of the boat.

And just like that, it was over. He let out a roar, aggravated he couldn't open his mouth far enough, then took only a moment to catch his breath before padding over to Wanderer.

He wasn't sure he had ever seen his friend so happy. However, once the ropes were eventually unknotted and undone – a painstakingly slow process - enough for Wanderer to stretch out his wings and legs, and the binding on his tail delicately and painstakingly chewed off, they did not hang around to congratulate each other.

Dreamer leapt back into the air after his friend, shouting their freedom. Even the muzzle did little to temper his joy, though it prevented his hinged mouth from opening and therefore restricted his throat and the volume he could muster.

However, they had barely even started looping and flipping around each other before Wanderer started to flag, and Dreamer was feeling it too. They were tired, hungry, and very weak, desperately needing food and rest.

And eating… would be a problem, Dreamer realised. He barked at Wanderer and levelled off, drifting into a swift and efficient glide, leaving the boat adrift behind them. Before long they found a tall sea stack to rest on, where Dreamer worked off the rest of the ropes off Wanderer. It took so long to work the fiddly little knots, even with Wanderer clawing through one of them, that by the time they were done Wanderer was rested enough to try to catch some fish; they needed his claws, as neither could use their mouths.

Dreamer purred thanks as a fish was dropped in front of him, and awkwardly worked it between the bars of his muzzle. That would be enough until they could get the muzzles off, but for that they needed help. If he still had his claws he might have been able to pick the lock on Wanderer's at least…

He shook his head and drifted into a doze, letting the fish revitalise him. They leaned into each other, but there was no overjoyed bonding, no cuddling or grooming or purring. They didn't feel free, wouldn't until the stifling muzzles were removed.

They woke to the sky-fire quenching in the water and took off again, flying into the encroaching darkness; the cool, safe, concealing darkness. They did not speak, just flew straight and efficiently.

So it was strangely a surprise when Berk started looming on the horizon. Dreamer hadn't really thought about where he was going, and it seemed Wanderer was following him, watching him with piercing and unreadable eyes.

Dreamer shook his head, grimacing at the weight and persistent clicking of the padlock, and flapped for a bit more speed. First, he would-…

He would what? As they entered Berk's waters, he glanced at the lights of the village and suddenly stalled in the air. His tired wings protested at hovering, but he couldn't bring himself to get any closer.

But Berk wasn't… wouldn't…

But Berk _had._

His thoughts seized. His chest was a tumultuous storm of rage, grief, and longing. He felt he was being ripped in half between an urge to return home and another to flee danger.

He didn't know what to do.


	28. Dissociation

Sound was distant. The village of Berk was clear even in the night and further lit by scattered torches. The village that had been a home for many years. The village that had betrayed innocent Nightstrikers.

Something bodily impacted Dreamer's side and nearly threw him out of the air. He lost some altitude in righting himself, spinning to react to-

Only Wanderer, watching down on him with those piercing eyes.

Dreamer whined _confusion, grief,_ expressing himself in the dragon way that was so much better than stupid fiddly words. He didn't think he _could_ put this to words, in either language.

Words were not needed. Wanderer swooped down past him, aiming for a flat on the mountain far above anything accessible to landbound creatures, and Dreamer followed numbly; whatever had been holding him back had lifted, and in his weariness it was becoming increasingly difficult to remain in the air.

They glided in over the edge of the flat, under the treeline, and down just inside the forest that covered it. Wanderer immediately took to pacing, growling angrily, then sat with a resolute huff and a flash of teeth.

Dreamer responded with a weary groan, weighed with sadness and betrayal.

Another growl, angry and prompting.

Standing to pace, Dreamer growled angrily as he stared vacantly at the ground.

Wanderer growled again, short and succinct.

The tether snapped, and Dreamer _shrieked_ the tortured medley streaking through him, again restricted by the _infuriating_ muzzle over his head. He very quickly became fed up with that too and threw himself to the ground to wrestle with it, desperately but futilely trying to pull it off. When that didn't work he threw himself at the closest tree, digging in his claws-

His blunted, useless claws!

Sheer rage took over and he lunged at a nearby sapling still recovering from the icy grip of winter, its branches splintering and snapping under the weight of his heavy strikes. Once every branch had been violently removed, he grappled it and got it between his teeth, tugged it until he ripped it from the ground, spun to sling it off into the dark forest, then _screeched_ after it.

He stood there, breathing heavily, staring after the hapless tree he had brutally murdered. His blood still simmered under his scales, but it was receding and no longer threatened to consume him, to take over his mind and body.

He had barely glanced at Wanderer when his friend barked authoritatively and led him back to the edge of the flat, dropping into the air. "Fish-Legs can get this off?" he asked as they drifted along the coast.

"Maybe," Dreamer replied flatly, then kept a tight handle on himself as they angled towards the village. The only one he was sure could remove it was Gobber, he thought with a curling of his lip, but Fishlegs was a reasonably safe bet. Tuffnut _might_ be able to pick the lock as a second option, though Dreamer didn't really want to deal with him right now.

He knew roughly where Fishlegs slept within his house, and swooped up at the back of the building to scrabble at the wall. There was a commotion inside even before he dropped away, and moments later a wide-eyed and jubilant Fishlegs met them at the door in a long, thick nightshirt.

_"Oh thank _Thor_ you guys are alright, I knew you'd make it!"_ he exclaimed, rushing forward, but the two Nightstrikers backed up with a growl. _"Hey come on, you know I didn't have anything to do with…"_ He trailed off and then sighed, staring at the ground off to the side. _"Alvin somehow got all the weapons in one spot and had Stormfly burn them, then kidnapped Stoick, backed up by an Outcast fleet. Apparently it's some old law that a Chief's ransom is… was… always to be paid."_

Dreamer listened impassively. _Excuses._ They should have ignored the law in favour of their own judgement. Why were Vikings so… _Viking!?_

Fishlegs looked back to them, his eyes a little brighter. _"But you're back now! Everyone's going to be… so… Wait, what…?"_ He peered at them through the darkness, probably having only just noticed the muzzles.

"Get light," Dreamer said flatly.

_"Yeah, okay, come on in-"_

He was cut off by two fierce snarls.

_"Okay, okay!"_ Fishlegs said placatingly, backing up. _"Lemme find a lantern then…"_ It took a few minutes, but then he was leaning in to inspect Dreamer's muzzle with a frown, turning the padlock over in his hand. _"Okay, let's go get Go-"_ He cut himself off when Dreamer twitched his head to glare at him, upper lip rising to expose his teeth. _"…Wow, I am stupid. Alright, I can have a swing at it…"_

The Nightstrikers melded back into the darkness, easily avoiding the night watch on the way to the forge. While waiting for Fishlegs, Dreamer took the time to consider how they were getting these things off. He decided on two pairs of pliers with long handles, usually used for wrangling metal into shape when it was too twisted or awkward for the anvil.

It was a strange perspective, reaching for them. He remembered doing so occasionally as a human, but he had been nowhere near as tall as he was now when standing on his hindlegs, and yet his arms were now considerably shorter. He managed to retrieve them without bringing down the wall of tools, and set them on the counter.

Fishlegs arrived shortly after, now wearing a warm coat and boots, and set the lantern on the table to lift and inspect a pair of pliers.

Dreamer gestured to Wanderer to come over, pointed at the padlock, then laid one paw over the other and twisted them in opposite directions. Fishlegs watched the motion, looked at the padlock on Wanderer, then the pliers, and nodded in confirmation.

After a few failed attempts, and some long-suffering looks from Wanderer, the pliers finally bit into the padlock enough that Fishlegs could use the leverage of the long handles to break it, the iron plates warping and ruining the mechanisms inside until the bar popped free. The muzzle clattered to the ground a few moments later, and Wanderer followed it to roll around, purring and groaning in relief.

Having been directing Fishlegs, Dreamer took his place and waited tensely for his own freedom. The sound of the tools clicking against the muzzle was loud in his ears, as was the eventual snap of the lock. The moment between that and the lock being pulled from the loop was torture, but then it was like a cage over the world was pulled away.

He immediately stretched his jaw, working it to its full extent, and then was very suddenly overwhelmed with relief.

_Free!_

The Nightstrikers pounced each other and rolled across the ground, purring and crooning, nuzzling and licking. Dreamer had never felt so close to his friend than by rubbing their heads together, practically whimpering in relief and joy.

The moment couldn't last though. They were still tired and hungry, and the village…

It didn't feel safe, Dreamer knew it was safe, Stoick had been returned so there was once again no reason to attack or trap the Nightstrikers… but he had thought that before and been bitten for it. Twice, even, as he was reminded by a sudden and inexplicable tightness in his right flank.

And he was _starving,_ and Wanderer would be even hungrier. Well, there was no reason to chance a hunt, and the village owed them _big_ time. With a short bark of gratitude at Fishlegs, they flapped up into the night again.

Wanderer led to a storehouse a short distance behind the night patrol, one that would not be observed for a while, and stood vigil while Dreamer warily dragged out a crate of fresh fish. When that failed to sate either of them, he dragged out another and they made short work of that as well.

Honestly, he could have kept going through a third and probably a fourth crate, but Wanderer led back into the night, back to a place that made sense for them both. Not the cove, a different place that was indisputably theirs and theirs alone.

Their old den was even smaller than Dreamer remembered from last time, not even as wide as his wingspan or as tall as when he held his head up. But it was hidden, cozy, sheltered, private, but above all, _safe._

Here, he could acknowledge the aching inside him, a desperate need to fill his senses with his family.

His only family…

* * *

Wanderer woke slowly, peacefully, before the sky-fire kindled and lit the sky. He was warm, so warm… and yet, not quite warm enough. He twisted a little for a better angle and pulled his Dreamer tightly to himself; legs, wings, neck, tail, all devoted to blissfully comforting and soothing contact.

It wasn't enough. He closed his eyes and keened quietly into Dreamer's neck, his heart aching more than he could ever remember. He was so very grateful for Dreamer, more than could be expressed, but it just wasn't a full family. Maybe he had been relying on the companionship of the nest more than he had thought…

The thought that Dreamer had made do with even less for his entire life was sobering. In just his time in the warm-nest under the claws of the queen, Wanderer had grown cold and numb, but he had at least known the love of a family. He couldn't comprehend never knowing that. It was no wonder they had spared each other all those seasons ago… Both so lonely, afraid of death but with ultimately nothing to live for…

Dreamer twitched, his breathing quickening. There had been nightmares from both of them; they had not slept properly on the floating-tree-thing, not deeply enough to descend into unwitting imagination, so it all came up now. Wanderer took a deep breath, recognising the pain he felt but also facing the reality that there was nothing to do but fly ahead and weather the storm. No sense lingering on something that could not be changed.

What must Dreamer be feeling? Wanderer's own perception of this nest had simply tilted into something like that of his previous nest, one of dominance and selfishness, one where he helped where he could but always assumed everyone would claw him apart if given the chance. Lessons he had learned quickly.

But this wasn't a new nest Dreamer was learning this in. Wanderer imagined that, instead of screeching for him to flee, Dam had beckoned him out to distract the attacking wing-hunters, or called out to him more directly to tell them he was hiding in the nearby shrubs. It made him sick to his stomach, and while he could not compare Dreamer's nest to his own, he had to assume he was feeling that heartbreak on top of everything else.

He knew what he had to do.

But before that, his tongue came out of its own accord to soothe his increasingly restless Dreamer where the nasty hard bindings had weighed on their heads, then shuddered in delight as claws flexed and raked down his neck and side; though they were blunt, it was still nice. He kept up the ministrations until Dreamer finally roused with a contented croon.

"You sleep?" Wanderer asked before any bad thoughts could take hold in that brilliant mind.

"Enough-"

"Good. We fly now." He rolled and reluctantly pulled himself from the embrace, then stretched and padded outside to flex his claws in the sand. He forced himself to focus on it, so that his own thinking did not glide off on its own – the coarse grains felt cool to his paws and stuck in a way that made it feel wet, though it was not, not this far from the calm water. His gaze drifted further out, to where the water met the sky, two realms that touched and yet did not.

Watching the sky begin to brighten as the sky-fire kindled, he thought on the other thing he wanted to do. He had worried he was just being vindictive, but now with a clearer mind he realised it was necessary. They had to learn.

…Dreamer wasn't following. Now he decided he _would_ be a little vindictive, but that was okay because he had good reasons as well; it just meant he would enjoy doing it. He turned and stalked back into the cave, then forcibly nudged Dreamer to his paws. "We fly now," he repeated, allowing no arguments. The Nightstriker let out a half-hearted groan, but did as told and trudged outside.

His listless and despondent expression turned confused and curious as he followed Wanderer over to the Long-Paw nest, though they only circled above it. He met Dreamer's enquiring gaze levelly, then took in a deep breath and roared _angry, danger, summons._ Long-Paws exclaimed below as they rushed out of dens, _surprise, cheer, relief_, they shouted, but he paid them no mind.

It did not take long for the wing-hunters of the nest to arrive, buzzing and flapping and gliding over to wheel around them. As a show of seriousness, Wanderer pulled up and hovered in place, prompting the others to do the same in front of him.

"This nest has rot in bones!" he announced in a fierce snarl, locking eyes with the nest-kin in turn. "These Long-Paws hurt me, hurt my kin! Grounded us! Starved us! Bit off claws!" This was understandably met with surprise and unease – it _was_ hard to believe that such apparently friendly nest-kin would do such bad things – but their eyes all narrowed on Dreamer, and his paws hanging in the air with a conspicuous absence of sharp protrusions.

He glanced over at Dreamer, who looked back at him with wide-eyes. There was surprise there, and a desperate need to correct him on details… but no disagreement.

"This not good nest!" Wanderer continued, then drifted a little closer to Storm-Fly to address her directly. "We want go to warm-nest, no Long-Paws. But… we still fledglings. Please, you shelter us?"

Storm-Fly's Long-Paw, _Astrid,_ shouted up to them from below, demanding to know what was going on, and Storm-Fly looked down to her. Wanderer growled. "That Long-Paw trap us, ground us."

"No!" Storm-Fly barked, appalled. "She not do! She… good… No, there bad Long-Paw in nest. He do."

Wanderer snarled angrily. "She give us to bad Long-Paw."

Storm-Fly hesitated, then drifted closer to scent him. He and Dreamer had been too exhausted to clean before sleeping, so the scents would still be present, and Spine-Tails had among the best noses for scenting.

She screeched angrily, her tail lashing behind her. "Yes, we go," she agreed with another reluctant glance down.

"Long-Paws think like fledglings," Wanderer said, addressing all the nest-kin in the air with him again. "Come for sky-ice-cycle, teach them we nest-kin, teach them we not prey!" That highly offensive statement was met with a chorus of hisses and growls, some in discontentment… but none in disagreement.

A crowd of Long-Paws had gathered below, standing on and around the jagged rock-teeth leading down from the big food-den at the top of the small-land. He roared furiously at them, then adjusted his flapping to pull himself forward and catch the wind, soaring away from the nest. Towards his old nest, warmed by hot rock at the bottom and protected from Long-Paws by thick mist. A place he never thought he'd return to like this, but that he was now strangely excited about.

The two Rock-Scales audibly buzzed after him, and a cacophony of larger wings followed. He glanced back to find all the nest-kin flying with him, as he'd hoped, and Dreamer pulled up beside him.

"We not leave always," Wanderer assured him.

Dreamer wearily tossed his head. "I not want go back. Maybe… Maybe another light, I will want…"

A brush of wingtips and an understanding croon lifted his head a little. "Not think of them now. We go to warm-nest."

"…Yes. We go."

* * *

Stoick was grateful there were only ten people who laid claim to a dragon, and half of them were kids who knew their place better than to demand answers from the Chief; if the whole village was clamouring around him wanting to know when they were getting their dragons back, this would be much more of a nuisance.

That on top of the fact that their five Nadders, two Gronkles, one Monstrous Nightmare and one Zippleback had apparently just flown off without as much as a glance back.

"Enough!" he shouted over the din, easily silencing the five people demanding his attention.

"Bu' we're defenceless!" Spitelout, sporting a black eye, repeated for the umpteenth time, apparently thinking himself excluded from the demand for silence.

"I don't recall needing them to protect us before," Stoick shot back at him; strictly speaking it wasn't true, but that had been a unique situation.

"Tha' was also before we 'ad everyone's eyes on us."

"Then maybe," Stoick gritted out, trying not to blacken his other eye as well, "you shouldn't have given away my Night Furies!"

"We nae could'a known this'd 'appen! An' wha', we should'a let 'em kill ya an' ransack the village?"

"These are the consequences of your actions! _Deal with it._ And I want to hear your plans for patrols and a report on our defences by noon."

Spitelout stomped off, grumbling and gesturing dramatically, and the others quickly found somewhere else to be before Stoick could turn on them too.

"Sir!" Astrid called out as she jogged back up to him. "They've all gone the direction of Dragon Island, back to the nest. We'll have to take a boat-"

"No," he cut her off sternly. "We don't need them for defence, our enemies know that, but they _were_ doing quite a bit around the village. I need your help getting everything back on track."

"But if we get them we won't need to-"

"And if they don't come back then we'll have wasted our time. Consider how they must feel, and give them their space." He thought back to how angry and hurt the roar had sounded, like that of the rare dragons he had relieved of a limb in the bad old days. "Did we ever get our water barrels back up to dragon raid standards?"

"Some, but not that much…" She shook her head. "But I can't see them-"

"Then that's your first job. _After_ you remind me _exactly_ what you did to my dragons."

* * *

The flight to the warm-nest was strange. Not the weather, it was a clear and sunny day for most of the trip, but rather whenever Dreamer glanced around he expected to see riders on the dragons surrounding him. There were no straps or harnesses, no saddles, and no noisy Viking teens singing and bantering to pass the time.

In fact, there was nothing man-made in this flight at all, nothing but living flesh and bone. It felt strangely isolating.

And yet, when he thought of humans, he felt only betrayal and despair. He wasn't sure whether isolating himself from them was right, but it was a relief, yet also a frightful step into an unfamiliar wilderness, and out of his hands regardless as Wanderer had taken the lead and would not be argued with, not that he wanted to argue…

When the big mountain came into view, it further confused things. The first time he'd laid eyes on it, Toothless had been… well, he assumed he'd been partially under control and obeyed a call to return. Hiccup and Astrid were the first humans to ever see it, and the monstrosity within, which was still a misshapen lump on the beach that he pointedly ignored. Who in their right mind would ever have guessed they'd come back to live there in a few years? It felt absurd.

And then he felt a strong sense of déjà vu, gliding straight into a massive crack in the side of the mountain and veering right, then left to emerge into the hollow interior.

He and Wanderer both sucked in a deep breath, though likely for very different reasons. It actually wasn't at all like he remembered it, there were tall pillars that sort of looked like sea stacks rising up from the depths, a warm glow emitting from a low haze. The haze he remembered, as it had obscured the queen dragon, but now it had mostly receded to reveal a large swathe of rock. What he'd assumed to be a giant lake of lava was in reality little more than a tiny trickle of it.

Even still, he could feel the heat radiating up, but good ventilation through the many cracks in the mountain kept the temperature comfortable.

And there were _so many dragons._ They flitted between and lounged on ledges that covered the pillars and walls, hovered and glided around the central chamber, and chattered quietly but that all together amounted to a deafening cacophony.

Stormfly cawed and beat her wings, rising up into the nest, and Dreamer and Wanderer followed. The other Berkian dragons followed, probably for lack of anything else to do judging by their expressions.

Dreamer was so far out of his depth his head was spinning, but he didn't care. He was far too busy gawking at everything. Adolescent dragons made up the majority of movement, so it seemed that regardless of what direction he looked he was always watching them chase each other around and fight over bits of wood or an old Nadder quill, or in the case of one group of Gronckles, a rock. Most of the adult dragons lay on their sides to watch or sleep, but some were fighting, and some of the fights looked much more bloody than playful.

A few curious dragons even took to the air to follow them up the hollow mountain as they presumably looked for a perch, which all looked rather full but were slowly becoming less crowded as they ascended. Clearly, the lower perches were more preferable because they were warmer and less draughty. At least the strong updrafts did most of the work for them.

They finally did alight on a ledge, near the top. It was already occupied, but the ledge was large and sported plenty of room, most of which was taken up by the several larger dragons in their party as they settled in to rest after the long flight.

Dreamer pawed at the rock. It was just so… _different._ It felt naturally warm, heated from within, and was much darker than the rock of Berk. And the _sound…_ He was reminded of a lesson once, involving sand; a pinch of sand makes no sound when dropped, but a handful can be heard. The quietest noise of hundreds, maybe thousands, of dragons combined into a constant hum.

And there wasn't a single human within four days' sailing.

He lowered himself to the rock, allowing its warmth to soak into his chest and belly. This was all so very sudden, none of it felt real. He half expected to wake up in their den or back on Alvin's boat.

A curious nose nudged him behind the ear a moment before Wanderer settled in next to him, also looking around with wide eyes. "More nest-kin than before," he said.

"Less dying to Long-Paws now," Dreamer answered numbly, staring at a small Nightmare that was crawling its way up the wall.

Wanderer licked him up the face, chasing off some of the vacancy, then stretched out over the rock with a purr. "I missed warm rocks… But rocks below warmer…" He rolled into Dreamer and onto his back, purring even louder and pawing playfully. "We rest now, then fish. Then we can play…"

"Play?" Dreamer asked curiously, wondering what they would be doing, but his friend was already asleep. _Huff._ "Lazywings…" Though he had to admit, the way this warm ledge lended comfort to his tired and aching muscles was making him very drowsy…

* * *

The Spine-Tail clucked contentedly as she watched her Nightstrikers drowse; she recalled these warm ledges had that effect on tired fledglings.

And they _were_ her Nightstrikers now, or might as well be. They had no sire or dam of their own, and while she would let them grow as they wished, they had asked her to shelter them. She would happily act as their dam for now, though that did not involve much with fledglings. For now, she gave them their space. They were more than capable of flying winds of their own, and would need that independence when they ventured into the world.

A short time later, a large Fire-Scale descended onto the ledge, eyes fixed on the fledglings where they slumbered. "Nightstrikers," he hissed quietly, almost lost to the din of the nest.

This must be the alpha, by the way so many other nest-kin were now looking in their direction with their heads held low. She stood and plodded over to him, ruffling her pristine wings and flexing her long talons. The other nest-kin that had followed her here also approached, performing their own displays of health and strength.

The alpha turned to briefly glance over them, then gave an acknowledging huff and turned back to the Nightstrikers.

The Spine-Tail was suddenly worried about the look they were receiving from this Fire-Scale, particularly when he tried to approach them. She quietly hopped over and settled down over them, gently scooping them close to herself with her wings. "They sleeping, not disturb them," she admonished him; he really should know better than that.

The alpha subtly flared his wings from where he leaned on them, turning his gaze on her. She bared her teeth and lifted her tail in response, and did not budge. The large male Spine-Tail who had followed here, the one who had recently sired her eggs, stepped over to stand with her, and the other nest-kin flared wings and bared teeth in warning as well, all watching the alpha warily.

He swung his head around, eyeing his opposition and finding nobody supporting him, then backed down, hissing in discontentment, and slithered off the ledge.

All nest-kin relaxed, and the Spine-Tail lifted her wings a little to check on the Nightstrikers. One twisted and stretched, placing a tiny paw on her chest, but both still slept soundly. She chittered comfortingly at them and closed her wings again.

The male Spine-Tail with her clucked proudly, then leaned in to preen her neck. She allowed it, given his support of her, and all things considered he was an impressive male. She had little doubt their fledglings would still be strong and healthy, and he had been a good mate, so was open to him courting her again.

Particularly if it meant more protection for her Nightstrikers. They might need it.

* * *

Dreamer woke with a squawk of confusion. The ground beneath him was warm and unfamiliar, and around and above him was naught but scale and leather, mostly Storm-Fly but a bit of Wanderer too. He was certain he hadn't gone to sleep like this.

…How _had_ he gone to sleep? Everything was a bit blurry.

His rumbling stomach put the thoughts from his mind. He stretched and twisted upright, then insistently nosed at the wing over him until it relented and raised, allowing him to wriggle out-

Blunt claws scrabbled on the rock as he backpedalled, and reality crashed into him. He finished crawling out with a sigh and rubbed his face with the side of his paw, trying to pull himself back into the dream where everything was fine and dragons and Long-Paws lived in harmony. Attempting to scratch an itch on his shoulder reminded him how bleak the likelihood of that dream was. He had underestimated the value of his claws, and was sorely missing them…

A weight settled across his back, and he groaned and sank to the ground as teeth assaulted the itch. Sharp claws followed, raking over his neck and down his back, causing him to stretch and flex with a pathetic whimper.

And then, to both their surprise, Storm-Fly licked them from tail to head before chirping at them with an impatient ruffle of her wings.

Come to think of it, what time of day was it? Still daylight, which he could see through the top of the mountain, but other than that Dreamer had no idea, he'd been sleeping quite heavily. Most of the other Berkian dragons were now absent, only Hookfang and the Gronckles lounging around.

Wanderer chirped and stretched, walking his forepaws forward and flexing his wings, then pranced impatiently around Dreamer while he lethargically did the same.

The three of them took to the air and they followed Storm-Fly through a fissure in the mountainside that she somehow knew was there, and out into open air. Dreamer shivered, the cool spring air suddenly very cold by comparison; he was looking forward to returning to the warm nest already.

But he was also hungry, and he presumed they were going to get food, so he put some enthusiasm into his wingbeats as they soared through the mist bank. The Vikings called it Helheim's Gate, a treacherous maze of sea stacks and underwater hazards that were no problem for a dragon to navigate, but that would make for difficult fishing.

They emerged into the typical overcast day, around mid-afternoon judging by a brighter patch of clouds that couldn't quite hide the direct light of the sky-fire. They'd slept for quite a while, but they _were_ exhausted; it would take a few days to replenish themselves, most likely. The sea below them was a little choppy, the occasional white cap on the waves, but his eyes saw clearly past the surface and to the shoals of fish that teemed beneath it.

Dreamer looked between the shoals, confused as to why they were passing them up and still flying. Were they not going to eat? But then Storm-Fly banked around one she had apparently picked arbitrarily, and dove into the water.

She dove into the edge of the shoal, and a surprised sound escaped Dreamer's mouth when a lance of light shot through it to create a foaming froth of bubbles and steam. He'd had no idea Spine-Tails could breathe fire underwater, and then when the water started to clear he saw a large number of fish inexplicably floating on the surface.

And then his hunger got the better of him, and he dove down and into the water. Which of course was far colder than the air.

Once he was over the initial shock, he propelled himself towards the feast and took a fish in his mouth.

…Now what?

He flinched as a black blur shot past him, creating a small splash and vanishing a fish. Oh, right, eating in the air made much more sense, he should have grabbed them in his-

…Well, he supposed he wasn't stupid for not thinking of something that wasn't actually an option.

Instead, he held his head above the surface and let the water drain out, then gulped down the fish. A bit wet and salty, but tolerable, and Wanderer joined him after a moment, probably also realising Dreamer's inability to grab them.

Between the three of them they made short work of the fish, and Dreamer watched Storm-Fly with some amusement as she awkwardly kicked and flapped her way back into the air, much more ungainly in the water than Nightstrikers. _Rrr,_ this water was cold though, so he kicked down and then spun with a flourish to power himself out and into the air that felt even colder than before.

He grumbled discontentedly. All he'd ever known was cold, so why was it getting to him now? He shook himself, willing his scales to dry a little faster as they soared up on the wind and disappeared back into the fog.

They were all mostly dry from the short flight, but the near-stifling heat of the nest was sheer bliss.

As they alighted on their ledge, still sporting Hookfang and the Gronckles but now also the twins' Zippleback, Wanderer pulled Dreamer aside. "Stay where Storm-Fly can see us," he said quietly. "Something strange, she seem protective."

Now that he mentioned it, she did appear to be watching them quite closely. "That easy." He rolled onto his back and stretched out on the blissfully warm rock. "I just stay here always," he purred, only mostly joking; it really did feel like he could just lay there forever.

Wanderer grumbled, but then began scratching and clawing at Dreamer's chest and underside in a way Dreamer hadn't known he'd needed until that very moment, something he vaguely remembered doing occasionally when Wanderer had lost his claws.

This wasn't a bad start to this… whatever it was. A vacation? A "vacation"? Something to think on later. It was a good start regardless.

* * *

Clothes still smouldering, arms and head hanging limply, Dagur's legs dragged him across Berserk through the warm light of dusk. His ears rang, his eyes ached even aside from hazing through his obscured vision, and he was so very, very tired.

He silently made his way to the edge of the island, a cliff overlooking a very particular section of sea and marked with a rusty axe impaled deeply in the dirt. He dropped to the ground in front of the weapon and pulled his legs into a crossed position, watching the water glitter with the fading light.

"Hey," he said quietly. "It's… been a while, huh? These moments are getting further apart…" He sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head at the ground. "It's getting harder. I still think I'm doing the right thing, but sometimes…" He waved a hand dismissively. "Vella does her best, and she's good, but she's not you."

Sensation erupted in his shoulder, and he reflexively slapped at it. It felt warm to his hand, which he brought forward to stare at the offending ashen flakes of his clothing. He couldn't even remember the last time he had actually felt pain; it wasn't pleasant. "I miss you," he said, his voice cracking. "I was hoping my sister… She can't be replaced." He nodded approvingly. "Got a wild streak to her too, that Berserker blood shining through. Wow, what I'm told she did… You would approve."

He let silence reign. He was more certain now than ever that he needed Heather, needed to find her again, but she'd disappeared. Nothing to do but wait for more leads. He doubted that by the time morning came, he would think to do anything more than hunt her down. Another reason Vella wasn't enough, she followed his whims far too often and never led with her own suggestions.

"Well, you should get back to feasting," he said reluctantly, beginning the slow process of pulling himself to his feet. "Who knows when I'll be back. If I'll be back. Probably when I join you, at this rate. Hopefully not too soon…" Gently resting his hand on the pommel of the axe, he took a slow breath, preparing himself to return to the village to sleep; to return to his usual self. Instead of speaking aimlessly to the axe and the air, he gazed down at the point the boat had sunk, carrying the one aboard it to Valhalla. "I'll try to make you proud until then."

He turned and began the slow trudge back to the village. "Goodbye, Mum."

* * *

_Dominance!_ Wanderer roared from atop the stone mound after fighting off the latest wave of attackers. Not that it was much of a fair fight, Spine-Tails were the only nest-kin who even _could_ fight on the ground like this and the hooked claw on the wrist of each wing was no substitute for forepaws that could push and slash.

He also had many season-cycles of experience, while these fledglings had not even seen their first hot-season yet. His advantages more than made up for their fire and numbers. They _might_ have had an echo of a chance had Dreamer cared to fight with and direct them, but he was busy having fun with casually roughhousing the odd Spine-Tail that was bored of Wanderer beating them senseless.

Not that they fared any better against him, but only because he was just so _fast._ Wanderer had appreciated it up close, but he admittedly had to stare when the Spine-Tail got a bit aggravated and snarled a bit more angrily than Dreamer could deal with, and suddenly found himself with a black blur running around him faster than he could turn to keep track of.

Wanderer chuckled at the Spine-Tail's bewildered expression, then almost absently lashed his tail to the side to take another fledgling in the jaw and send them staggering down the short slope. The intake of breath – something not necessary, but that was an aide to learning – apprised him to another about to breathe fire, which he blocked with a wing; their fire was hot, but not nearly as hot as it would be after the next cold-season when they reached maturity.

He swung around to counter an attack from the blind spot that created, but there was nothing there. These fledglings were uncoordinated. Actually, they seemed to be giving up entirely, turning their attention to preening themselves. He smirked down at them, which they pretended not to notice but suddenly became very interested in some specific scale when they briefly met his gaze.

Something about them was bothering him… There was something he was missing, something he was forgetting… but what could he possibly know of a generation he'd never met before?

One chirped enquiringly at a group of others and gestured towards Dreamer, who was… Wrrr, Dreamer probably didn't realise what he was implying with the Nadder he had pinned to the ground to playfully chew, or why she was content to let him, but that didn't matter. Fledglings often became confused at this stage of life, but instincts would correct her thinking before that time came. Probably. There had been a pawful who hadn't seemed to scent those tracks…

But that had been another, more depressing life, and it wasn't that action specifically that had earned Dreamer the other fledglings' interest, it seemed. They rushed over and trilled as they surrounded him, then herded him towards Wanderer.

Wanderer grinned toothily as he prowled down the mound, to which Dreamer responded with a roll of his eyes and then a challenging growl.

It was a challenging play-fight, but it remained playful. Dreamer still more than doubled the bruises and scrapes that the Spine-Tails had managed, though Wanderer inflicted the same back. It ended with Wanderer bodily pouncing Dreamer and rolling them entirely over each other, which was disorienting enough to completely pin him.

And then the Spine-Tails noticed the mound had no alpha, and immediately rushed to claim the top spot and left the Nightstrikers laying on their own near the edge of the ledge.

Which was welcome, actually, as now seemed a good time to bring up something Wanderer had noticed a pawful of nights ago. "Good fight," he warbled as he settled in next to Dreamer.

"I need get stronger," Dreamer growled, then stretched a paw and then licked at the shoulder where Wanderer had tackled him.

"You still not can fight me?"

"It getting better…"

"I know how you fight Fast-Paw alpha, but not can fight me."

Dreamer's ears perked, but he otherwise became still and impassive. It was difficult to see what he thought about it; with some things he just shut down and did not respond, and this was one of those things. Wanderer had actually meant to bring it up before, but until now there had been something bigger going on. Now, after a few nights in the warm-nest, things should have settled enough to talk about it.

"Your nest-kin make bad instincts, that fighting is bad," he started, to which Dreamer gave a small nod. "That why you not can fight. But you fight Fast-Paw, kill Spine-Tail. What different?"

Dreamer keened quietly, then leaned into Wanderer. "I needed fight them…"

"You needed fight land-hunters when we taken," Wanderer reminded him, nosing gently at his neck where there had been many teeth-hurts. "You only can fight when I maybe get hurt."

That lifted Dreamer's head a little, but there was not the shocked revelation that Wanderer had experienced. "Yes. That sound right." Perhaps, in some way, Dreamer _had_ known about it. Whatever the case, it was clear now. "Fighting still bad, but I not can lose you…"

_Rrrr,_ that was _more_ bad thinking that would need to be corrected, but they should focus on one thing at a time. Wanderer took a long breath, then nodded towards the Spine-Tails piling on top of the mound. "You think I would hurt fledglings?"

"No," Dreamer said with an affronted huff.

"If fledgling hurt wing, I would help?" At that, Dreamer gave him a long-suffering look. "If fledgling attack me, try kill us, I would kill it?"

Dreamer briefly thought about that one, then slid his claws across the rock. "I think you would stop them, ask why they attack."

"Yes. I not want kill nest-kin. Or not-nest-kin." He met Dreamer's gaze levelly. "When I say fight, kill, that mean we need fight, kill. Storm-Fly protect us here, but we maybe need fight again. If I say kill, you or me get hurt if you not."

He watched Dreamer as he tried to argue, his mouth moving without making sound, then give up to stare ahead. To speed up the process, he rubbed their necks together, a show of mutual trust; Dreamer _did_ trust him, even if he did occasionally seem to forget and needed reminding.

Dreamer leaned into the gesture, and Wanderer could actually feel him reach a resolution, his shoulders relaxing and wings settling. "Yes. I should know already…"

Wanderer licked him, then swatted playfully. "Stupid," he chided.

They stayed there for some time, lazily swatting at and biting each other, until Storm-Fly called _summons_ down the nest. Wanderer looked up, and was startled to see sheer darkness in the sky rather than the expected dim light of the end of the day, it must be well into the night already. Why had she let them play so long?

That nagging feeling returned, giving him an uneasy feeling as he looked around the nest for the other fledglings' minders. Some had been called off earlier, but there were still pawfuls of fledglings… was nobody watching them?

Some of the Spine-Tail fledglings were looking up, warbling in confusion and ignoring the game going on around them. Four went back to playing the game as Wanderer watched, but a fifth glanced between the others and up towards the sky.

Dreamer warbled _enquiry_ as Wanderer tried to figure out what he was missing; something important, he was sure. "We go?"

"Something wrong," he replied, standing to step to the edge for a better look. There were definitely no Spine-Tails observing the playing fledglings other than Storm-Fly, peering over the ledge above them, who clucked impatiently and called out to them again.

"Danger?" Dreamer asked quietly, warily scanning around them.

Wanderer replied with a doubtful hum, then called back to Storm-Fly and tried to open his eyes and _see_ what he was missing.

Finally, a Spine-Tail drifted onto the ledge and called _summons,_ though she looked weary. Wanderer trilled a greeting and walked over to her, determined to get his teeth around this wrongness.

_Impatient, summons,_ Storm-Fly called from above, flapping irritably, but what was far more interesting was this Spine-Tail's response, quills twitching and head flicking to look up. The fledglings were starting to gather, but one of the ones that had responded to Storm-Fly earlier hopped over and chittered uncertainly at this new one.

Wanderer hesitated as he watched their little exchange of reassurance, then stalked up and scented them.

His eyes widened. How could he have forgotten, not seen this? Not wondered where the nest-kin of Dreamer's nest were rearing their young? _Ground this small body and mind!_

These two Spine-Tails had been abandoned here by their dam.

Abandoned here by Storm-Fly.


	29. Hierarchy

This didn't make any sense.

Wanderer absently ground his claws on the rock, though they were beyond sharp and were now just wearing down. He was staring at Storm-Fly, settled down to sleep with a head under her wing.

She wasn't a bad dam, had proven herself capable and caring in the pawful of nights they had all spend in this nest, and before that as well, _and_ that to fledglings who weren't even her own.

So why was it, that when it came to her own fledglings, she abandoned them here and then returned to the Long-Paw nest?

And it wasn't just her, he realised – _all_ the nest-kin who travelled to the egg-nest returned without fledglings. Did they _all_ drop them here? Was this a problem limited to the kin of the Long-Paw nest?

He had seen plenty of fledglings here with their sire and dam, that was the same as always. What was different? That they were part of a Long-Paw nest, or were just leaving the nest? Or something else?

So much needed answering.

Dreamer reached out and pressed Wanderer's paw to the rock, halting his mindless grinding. "What eating your tail?" he asked, shifting to look at him through lidded eyes.

"Fledglings we play with," Wanderer replied, pulling his paw back to tuck under himself.

"You not like them? I thought you had fun."

"Not that." He tilted his head at the Spine-Tail slumbering nearby. "Storm-Fly in Long-Paw nest for three cold-seasons. Where her fledglings?"

Dreamer's frills twitched and flexed as he thought. "I not know what normal for Spine-Tails, other scale-wing-hunters." He paused for a moment, ears and frills drooping. "I not know what normal for anything…"

Wanderer turned back to Storm-Fly to hide his bared teeth; _that_ was a real example of negligence. "Fledglings fly here when cold-season ends, but still need shelter, teaching, family, until first cooling-season."

"Maybe Storm-Fly not have hatchlings?"

"We played with Storm-Fly's fledglings this light."

Dreamer chirped in surprise, then tilted his head. "We ask Storm-Fly then?"

"Yes, but after we talk with fledglings," Wanderer warbled thoughtfully. "I want know more when ask her." There was little sense in asking Storm-Fly why she'd done what she had when he didn't even really know _what_ she'd done.

Dreamer rumbled in amusement. "We not can do that until next light?" Wanderer groaned, knowing where he was going with this. "You thinking about thing you not can fix," he continued smugly.

"Yes," Wanderer grumbled at him; he regularly swatted Dreamer for doing the same thing.

"Then it good I know what you need," Dreamer said with a toothy grin.

Wanderer slumped with another groan, resigned to the swatting he probably deserved – then sighed as a tongue assaulted his shoulders. "Stupid," Dreamer muttered happily as he worked. Grrr, steal his catch and eat it in front of him…

* * *

Now that he was looking, Wanderer saw other things wrong with the nest.

The fledglings had been difficult to talk to, they had simple words even for Spine-Tails and were unwilling to talk on the matter – or at all really, being energetic and unruly – but as far as he could work out there were many nest-kin who left their fledglings here and flew away, and it wasn't limited to those at Dreamer's nest.

While flying around to think on that, he discovered a similar group of Rock-Scales, also being looked after by the survivors of the oldest abandoned generation. Though they typically grew to be slow and lethargic, Rock-Scale fledglings were quite energetic and loved a quick tussle with the Nightstrikers while he discreetly scented them, finding some from Fish-Legs' Rock-Scale but maybe one or two clutches who weren't.

He went searching for the Two-Heads and Fire-Scales, but there didn't seem to be a group of either. Two-Heads were more independent, and once he realised that he spotted one here and there who could possibly have been abandoned, but there was scarcely a scent of Fire-Scales. They could only have one egg per cold-season and so weren't the most prevalent nest-kin, but the few fledglings he saw were being watched over by a doting dam, and in most cases a protective sire as well.

And then, while looking in the warmer depths of the nest, he discovered a grim sight.

Pawfuls of nest-kin, at the bottom of the nest, all dead. Little more than dry husks now, curled up and covered in dust so that they appeared to be rocks until one looked closely. Even then, as Dreamer landed next to him, glanced at the nearest mound and scrabbled back from the Fire-Scale jaws with a yip. "What… happen here?" he asked as he crept forward again.

Wanderer dipped his head. "I think they die from many season-cycles. Not can hatch again like Nightstrikers."

"Why here? They not fall here." Indeed, all the corpses were curled up, peaceful and content, rather than splayed out and broken as if they had fallen or been pushed from a ledge; they would have been much more noticeable that way. Dreamer turned from the body and sat facing Wanderer, curling his tail to his side. "How… nest-kin… fly from this life before?"

"When I grow weak, I fly to bottom of nest," Wanderer said without thinking.

Dreamer stood and slowly walked forward, watching him with narrow eyes. "You?"

"…Yes?" Wanderer said uncomfortably.

"You Nightstriker. When you grow weak, you hatch again." He looked around. "I not think this good place for hatchling."

Wanderer stared back at him. "I…" An itching feeling crept down his neck, and he shook his head vigorously. "Survival hard for fledgling Nightstriker. I… ask Spine-Tail for shelter, like Storm-Fly." That didn't feel right either…

Speaking of Storm-Fly, her summons pricked their ears and they looked up to see her circling above.

"I not like here," Dreamer grumbled as he spread his wings to leap up towards her. Wanderer glanced around one last time before following him up.

"We get water," Stormfly chittered, then coasted on the hot air to lead them to the exit.

The feeling of passing from warm turbulent air to cold and consistently lateral air was still quite unfamiliar, though Wanderer still adjusted to it automatically. He followed through the dense fog, swerving around the tall rocks with his thoughts flying the same winds over and over.

The thought just didn't make sense. He growled at himself and shook his head. What was there at the bottom of the nest?

His wings seized and he nearly fell out of the air. The answer to that now was of course 'nothing', but when he had lived here before? A hungry and tyrannical behemoth that ate anything and everything that got near it, and that could put thoughts into the minds of its nest-kin.

_Could put thoughts into the minds of its nest-kin._

He _did_ fall out of the air then, clipping the top of a rock and tumbling to a halt on top of it. He lay there stiffly, body refusing to respond and feeling like eels were writhing in his core.

How many other thoughts weren't his? How many had he not recognised and allowed to slip through? How would he even _know!?_

Wingbeats preceded Dreamer and Storm-Fly alighting on the rock, and his eyes flicked up to look at them. Dreamer scented his nose and mouth, humming _worry, confusion,_ then chirped enquiringly, and Storm-Fly just scented all of him at once. He tried to croon placatingly and get up, knowing there wasn't anything physically wrong with him, but the sound became strangled and he just couldn't make his body move as he wanted to.

Storm-Fly warbled worriedly, and then her mouth gently closed down around his midsection. Whether by instinct or not, he hung limply as she stepped off the rock and soared back into the air.

The next thing he knew was something cold on his face, and Dreamer quietly barking _worried, hopeful, prompting._ He opened his eyes again to find the familiar pool of clear water at his nose.

Water. He would die if he did not drink water, that was a fact of every living thing. His neck stretched out to dip his jaw into it, to allow it to flow into his mouth, and he gulped it down.

_Dreamer…_ He was sat on his haunches by the edge of the pool, head low and wide eyes staring _pleadingly_ at him, clearly having difficulty holding himself back. The queen hadn't even known of him, and he became a Nightstriker after her demise. "Not worry," Wanderer croaked.

Dreamer grunted in complete disbelief and scurried forward, scenting and nuzzling apparently randomly.

"I not sick," Wanderer continued, pulling himself back to his paws, though he was shaky and very weak.

"You not smell sick," Dreamer grumbled, pulling himself back again. "But you not good. What wrong?"

"I…" He growled at himself, willing his body to start working properly again. "I realise… bad thought… not mine…"

"I not understand," Dreamer whined. "How I can help you?"

Wanderer weakly shook his head. "I need rest…"

He lapped a bit more at the water while Dreamer bounded over to Storm-Fly, though it didn't sound like it went over well. Storm-Fly plodded over to him and leaned in close. "You can fly?" she asked. He extended his wings and flapped a few times, though it lacked the power and coordination required for flight.

She took that as a no, and picked him up in her teeth again to take to the air.

* * *

This place was very foreign.

It wasn't just the way it was made of a dark rock that was always warm, or that the air was heavy and stuffy but not quite unpleasantly so, or even that it was built more vertically than Berk.

There was a lot that made it strange, perhaps the most prominent being that all its residents could fly. Dreamer could fly, of course, but it was strange that literally everyone else could too.

There was also something about the mood. Vikings were busy people, always doing something, preparing for trade in the spring and summer and preparing for winter during autumn. Even in winter they spent time repairing, making fabric and clothes, learning, and doing whatever they could. The dragons here, on the other paw, were just so… placid. When they were hungry, they fished. When they were bored, they played.

And when a Nightstriker became bored and began swooping up and down the nest, they followed him because it was apparently more interesting than whatever they had been doing before.

So that was how Dreamer found himself at the head of a flight of dozens of dragons, mostly adolescent but including many older ones too as far as he could tell. They flocked after him in a huge column, to the point he could turn and weave around it, creating incredible patterns of flying dragons.

Until he threaded them into a knot, just to see what would happen, and the procession collapsed into chaos before flying after him again.

He flew over his ledge and checked in on Storm-Fly, to check she wasn't doing anything… _personal_ with Kingstail anymore, and descended to land. The plethora of dragons continued down past the shelf – he had been a little concerned they'd all try to land around him – and in a few moments were all out of sight.

After trilling a greeting at the pair of Spine-Tails, now laying against each other, he padded over to Wanderer.

He wasn't as deeply in sleep as he'd been since they'd returned around noon the previous day, which was a good sign, but he was still asleep. Stormfly appeared next to him, scenting the prone Nightstriker and then nudging Dreamer reassuringly before plodding off again. Dreamer felt his ears burning, given how much of Kingstail he could smell on her.

Not that he hadn't been able to hear and smell it on the Vikings, but at least they weren't like that out in the open.

He settled down next to his friend, heart skipping as Wanderer stirred, though it was some time later that he finally woke. A weary groan was the first thing he had to say, before pawing lethargically at his head. Dreamer offered a rumbling purr and a lick to let him know he was there.

"I hungry," was the second thing he said, in groggy confusion.

Dreamer chuffed and swatted his paw. "You sleep for nearly sky-fire-cycle. You not eat since last light."

Wanderer groaned again at that, then rolled onto his paws to stretch. Dreamer watched, waiting patiently.

The Nightstriker glanced over at him, then lowered his eyes to the ground. He was acting like this was his fault somehow… Dreamer rolled his eyes. "Stupid," he said, swatting at him again.

But Wanderer just took the battering to the head with only a mild flinch, then met his eyes-

Dreamer's breath left him, and he lowered his paw back to the ground. He stared into his friend's eyes, enormous green eyes full of confusion, uncertainty, and pain. "What?" he asked gently, stepping forward to wrap him in wings. He was trembling; Dreamer didn't even know _what_ to think of that.

"I not know I me," he said shakily as they sat next to each other. "I not know… how much I me, how much I… something else."

A confused growl could not be restrained. "I not understand," Dreamer said with a nuzzle.

Wanderer shook him off and stalked to the edge of the shelf, staring down. "What at bottom of this nest?"

"…Dead nest-kin?"

"Yes. You remember what _was_ at bottom of this nest?"

What _was_ there? How would he know? He'd only been here once before, when-… Well, that explained why there were so relatively few bodies down there.

Wanderer nodded, seeing his understanding. "She give us thought to fly to her when we old, when we not can feed her prey. Feed her our body instead."

There was silence while the horror of that revelation sank in. A lifetime of service and loyalty, forced or otherwise, for the only reward to be a quick death. Hopefully.

"I not know… what else… she…" Wanderer was looking back at him now, racked with fear and uncertainty.

"She dead," Dreamer asserted. They had flown by the corpse several times, she was _definitely_ dead.

"Yes. But I still had bad thought, for fly to bottom of nest." He whined and sat back to paw desperately at his head. "What other thoughts not mine? What she _do!?"_

Dreamer stepped forward to embrace him again, but he shied away. With a growl, Dreamer pounced and pinned him; it was ridiculously easy, Wanderer _definitely_ wasn't in his right mind, as if sleeping for near a full day wasn't enough to suggest that. "Hey," Dreamer barked at his panicking friend, then resorted to licking him up the face to get his attention. "This nest do you bad," he growled, staring into his narrowed eyes. "Like my nest do me bad."

He had Wanderer's full attention now. Good. "My nest-kin do me bad," he continued, settling so they would be more comfortable. "But that bad is part of me. If I not was given bad instincts… If I could fight, kill…" He whined in sheer grief, looking away for a brief moment. "I might kill grounded Nightstriker I find…" He nuzzled his friend with a choked whimper. "That why I forgive. Everything I live, bad things too, led me here. With you. I _never_ want things different."

"But… how you know I me…?" Wanderer asked with a piteous whine.

"What is you?" Dreamer asked more gently with a wry chuckle. "I not know what is me, what is you. I know I Dreamer, you Wanderer." He stepped off and settled next to him with a hearty purr. "We best-friends, fly together always. I not need know more."

Wanderer whimpered and nuzzled into his chest, not so much a miserable whimper as it was the 'letting everything out' kind. Dreamer was familiar with it, and continued to purr as he held him close. "Maybe you have some bad thoughts," he added, "but I here for you. I tell you if I think your thinking is bad. I do anyway, like you do for me."

"But w-what if protecting nest-kin n-not my thought? What i-if that _her_ thought?"

"Then take that thought, make it yours. It good thought, not matter how you got it."

Wanderer buried his head back into Dreamer's chest, and Dreamer curled up around him and covered him with a wing, purring into his ears. _I'm here for you, friend._

* * *

Everything appeared fine on the surface. Light filtered down through the rain falling into the top of the nest, colouring the walls paler and brighter than usual, and the various nest-kin went about their business of sleeping, playing, courting, caring for fledglings, and so on.

But there were definitely things that were out of place. And now that Wanderer had taken some time to calm his turbulent mind, he was determined to do something about it.

Because Dreamer had been right… Maybe he hadn't been the type of Nightstriker to care about other nest-kin, but Dreamer _was,_ and Wanderer wanted to be too. Regardless of if the thought was given to him or not, it was his now.

He gave his head a shake to dislodge the creeping doubts and tucked in his wings to dive down past the rim of the nest, angling himself out of the column of rain and towards their ledge. His heart was warmed to find Alpha-Tail playing with Dreamer, almost like a sire would. The Spine-Tail was big and imposing, but he moved with care and grace as he bowled Dreamer over and rubbed his snout over his front to wild squeaking and growling.

But Wanderer wasn't feeling playful himself, still sober from discovering the violation of his thoughts even a pawful of nights later. It was good that Dreamer was having fun though; fledglings needed to stay active and doing things, but Dreamer in particular seemed to eat up experience like a whole clutch of hungry hatchlings.

Storm-Fly trilled at him and plodded over, scented him, then began scratching at his back with her beak. He groaned, struggling to stand between the downward pressure and suddenly unsteady legs, but waved her off with his wings and slipped out from under her.

He'd had time to consider how to approach this. He didn't want to accuse Storm-Fly in any way, because most likely she had bad thinking forced on her, like he had. In fact, he'd been able to identify that one in his own head after thinking about it for a while. Envisioning his future, siring eggs and then hatchlings, he was certain to bring them here once their flying was strong. _Was_ certain. Once he recognised the bad thought, he was able to attack and defeat it with logic and better alternatives.

Hopefully, he'd be able to do the same with Storm-Fly, who was staring at him inquisitively. "I played with your fledglings," he offered with a purr. "They strong, healthy."

Storm-Fly warbled proudly at that, ruffling her wings and holding her head high. "They fly well, their sire fed us much."

Wanderer hummed appreciatively, glancing over at Alpha-Tail as he fled from Dreamer nipping at his tail. "He good sire." Dreamer bounced off the ground, then scrabbled over himself trying to turn tail and flee from Alpha-Tail who had suddenly turned with his wings flared and a playful but loud squawk. "You go back to Long-Paw nest?"

There was a rattling sound as Storm-Fly's quills stood up, and she tilted her head to regard him. "Long-Paw nest good. Much food, not bored." She then lowered her head a little and hissed deep in her throat. "Long-Paws bad. Danger."

"Danger for Nightstrikers," Wanderer said with a mild growl. "They learning. I think maybe good place for fledglings soon."

"Bring fledglings here," Stormfly replied, staring at him as if he'd suggested flying to the sky-fire.

Wanderer looked around them, at the crowded ledges. "It good nest. But many nest-kin here. Maybe too many next warming-season. I not want stay here then, need space for play, explore. Long-Paw nest fun." He sighed with a growl. "When they not think us prey, it good nest."

Storm-Fly chirped mildly, going back to watching Alpha-Tail and Dreamer. Wanderer got the feeling she wasn't convinced. "When I have fledglings, I bring them here?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied to his dismay.

"Why?"

She didn't reply to that, and after a short time she shuffled slightly to put her shoulder to him, ending the conversation.

Wanderer sighed and relaxed onto his side, covering his face with his tail fins. He hadn't convinced her, but maybe he'd said enough that she would think about it…

Where was the alpha in all this? Depending on how things played out he could be forgiven for the first abandoned fledglings, but he should have been wary for the season-cycles after that. It wasn't Wanderer's place to get involved with him, not now as a fledgling, but what else was there to do? Nobody else was going to help, they were all affected by the bad thoughts given to them.

No… Not everyone, he realised, lifting his head from behind his tail, then trotted to the edge and dropped into open air.

Finding the Spine-Tail he was looking for among the many, many nest-kin would be impossible, he wouldn't even recognise her if he saw her. However, finding the group of fledglings was a lot simpler, and if she was not with them then they would be able to lead him to her.

In a nest this size there were a pawful of groups of Spine-Tail fledglings, but he located the specific one he was looking for without too much difficulty. They were a particularly rowdy lot, sweeping through some of the more vacant ledges to disturb and chase off the few occupants who were lazing there. Wanderer watched them for a short time, waited for the last occupant of their current ledge to depart in a grumpy huff, then descended into their midst.

Their bratty squawking became surprised and pleased as they danced around him. Wanderer wanted to discipline them for their disruptive behaviour, but there was little he could do with so many, particularly without his fire. Hrrr, maybe he could set a good example though.

He sat down slowly and tucked his tail neatly around his paws, holding his head high and staring down the unruly Spine-Tails. "I think that Fire-Scale not like that," he said, gesturing to the female as she crawled up the wall to a higher ledge.

"Not like! Not like!" they chanted, completely oblivious to what he was trying to tell them.

Wanderer sighed; this wouldn't be so easy to fix. "Where your dam?"

"No Dam!"

They bounced and flapped excitedly, and Wanderer had to bark to get their attention again. "You show me thing," he said to one of the more placid females before turning to the group again. "Then we play?"

"Play! Play! Play!" The one he'd spoken to hopped forward and nipped at him.

"You show me who feed you?" he asked, holding his wing back from the bitey fledgling.

"Feed? Yes. Show."

Quite a way up the nest, not much further down than Wanderer's own ledge, they alighted on a narrow ledge sporting some Spine-Tails and fledglings. He gave the fledgling who'd led him there a grateful glance, then walked forward and warbled a greeting.

The Spine-Tail he addressed warbled back, though she was doing her best to calm her own squawking fledgling. Wanderer tilted his head at him then shot her an enquiring look, to which she chirped agreeably.

Wanderer walked right up to the demanding fledgling and snarled in his face, instantly silencing him. "You hungry?" he asked calmly, but the fledgling fidgeted and shied back. "You want play?" That earned a hopeful chirp. "I talk with your dam, then play," he offered, gesturing to the fledgling behind him.

"Now! Play!" The fledgling then screeched demandingly, but went silent as Wanderer snarled at him again.

Wanderer huffed agreeably at the quietened fledgling, then turned to his dam. "Your dam leave you here?"

"Yes. I here. Dam leave."

He winced at her basic grasp of language. And she only had one fledgling… Spine-Tails usually hatched in clutches of four or five. "Alpha not help?"

"…Help?"

"He… not do thing for you?"

"Alpha scare us." She gnashed her teeth a few times, shying and shuffling back.

Wanderer turned to the side to growl. He could fault the Long-Paw nest all he wanted, but at least their alpha actually worked for the good of the nest. This one seemed unbothered by the wrong things going on around him.

And an alpha like that… Best he not approach, not without his fire at least.

He tossed his head and offered a consoling croon. There was no way he was leaving this Spine-Tail to fend for herself, she had absolutely no idea what she was doing and nobody to help her. That was changing, _now._ "Come, we help you." He turned to the fledgling, who was glaring sulkily at him. "Come, we play."

"Not play you," he grumbled back petulantly.

Wanderer held back a groan, then gestured to the fledgling, but his dam just stared back at him.

After several failed attempts to communicate, and some muted hissing in frustration at his small size, Wanderer gave up and called for Storm-Fly. He was counting on her help anyway, and this _was_ her daughter. There was a level of responsibility she had to take, even if it wasn't strictly her fault.

Though, it would be interesting to see how this played out. Storm-Fly didn't think she was doing anything wrong in her altered thinking, and this Spine-Tail had ignored Storm-Fly when collecting the fledglings a pawful of nights ago.

She stared furtively at Storm-Fly as she descended and landed, and Wanderer just gestured and moved out of the way.

How would he treat a dam who abandoned him at a young age and then turned up out of nowhere like nothing was wrong? Wrrr, he would want to know why, and it would then depend on the reasons. Spine-Tails were simpler creatures, however, living more in the moment.

Storm-Fly's daughter moved in front of her fledgling, but remained low to the ground. He started acting up again, squawking and trying to get around her and thus dividing her attention between him and the perceived threat.

"She need help," Wanderer said, walking up next to Storm-Fly. "She your fledgling." It felt weird to be telling her what to do, but he could only fly on the winds that blew.

Storm-Fly stared at the scene for many long moments, but seemed spurred into action when the fledgling flamed his dam. She hopped forward and leaned against her daughter reassuringly, though she did not seem reassured, then expertly grabbed the fledgling in her mouth.

He instantly went limp, legs and a wing hanging limply from her jaw, though he squeaked unhappily. His Dam watched with wide eyes, then sagged and followed them into the air.

She was so submissive, even to her own fledgling, completely lacking confidence. It was not good to grow up without a dam.

Wanderer watched them go, then abruptly remembered his promise to the other fledglings. The one who had shown him here had apparently got bored at some point and left, so the others were almost certainly off causing trouble again. He sighed and set off to find them.

* * *

Dreamer hopped aside from another clumsy lunge, sighing in agitation. It had started fun, but this fledgling was trying his patience. And for some reason Storm-Fly and the new Spine-Tail who had joined them were content to just watch, regardless of Dreamer's grumbles.

He darted around the fledgling again, easily dodging his hooked wing-wrists and teeth, then dropped to the stone with his face hidden behind his tail. _That,_ if anything, should signal he didn't want to play anymore.

But the fledgling persisted, charging up to him and forcing him to his paws again. He was now more convinced that this fledgling was not trying to be playful, but he still had no idea what was going on.

Flaring his wings, he turned to the open air… but, as with last time he'd got fed up, something stopped him. Some deep instinct, some sense of loss for if he flew away. He furled his wings and turned to the Spine-Tail fledgling, not able to stop himself shying back as he once again charged with an angry screech.

Well… he _was_ trying to subvert these rotten instincts, and this seemed a decent opportunity. He shut out the anger directed at him, focusing on the Spine-Tail himself. It was a simple matter to hop out of the way again, lash out with his tail, then leap over to pin him by the flank and neck.

_There, happy?_ Dreamer growled at him as he struggled, blocking the thrashing tail with a wing, but it didn't seem to help. He let the fledgling up, only to be attacked again. What was _wrong_ with this Spine-Tail?

Finally, Wanderer alighted on the ledge and sat on his haunches, also apparently content to just watch. Dreamer was _definitely_ missing something here.

The Spine-Tail fledgling turned to the new arrival, then screeched and charged at him instead. Dreamer slumped to the ground, exhausted; he had no idea how this fledgling could _still_ be so energetic.

Wanderer smirked as the fledgling charged, then halted him by putting a paw to his head and slamming his chin into the ground. _Hmph,_ Dreamer had already tried fighting, and it didn't work.

Sure enough, the fledgling hopped back to his paws with an angry hiss, then tried to head-butt Wanderer, but was just slapped aside and stumbled to a halt. Over and over Wanderer slammed him aside or into the ground without as much as moving, then finally, with a languid yawn, stood and turned to strike him with his tail.

Dreamer gawked as the fledgling tumbled several body-lengths away, he knew their tails were strong but _that_ was ridiculous.

With a coolly casual demeanour, Wanderer strolled over to the fledgling and looked down on him, flaring his wings for emphasis. The fledgling hunched, staring wide-eyed up at the Nightstriker.

And then Dreamer's wings hit the ground as Wanderer crooned happily and nuzzled the fledgling, who chirped back with a flutter of wings and nibbled at Wanderer's shoulder.

…What in Thor's name just happened?

Wanderer caught his expression, and a shocked understanding flickered across his face. He put a wing in front of the fledgling and walked up to Dreamer, with a glance to Stormfly and the new Spine-Tail with her. "I not explain, sorry," he said; though his eyes were sincere, the apology was barely a nod. "Family has hierarchy, we fight for it."

"Hier-archy?" Dreamer warbled in confusion.

"Wrrr, like your nest… Your sire alpha, next rock-head's sire, next tree-paw, next… you understand. Hierarchy say who eat first, who get best sleeping-place."

"Who eat first? So if there not enough food…"

Wanderer shrugged. "Weak kin starve."

Dreamer grimaced, applying the structure to the teens of his generation. Astrid was definitely at the top, followed by Snotlout, the twins, Fishlegs, and then… himself. If he'd had to rely on the rest of them leaving him food, he wouldn't have survived long. "I happy we not need fight for hierarchy," he grumbled.

"Yes," Wanderer chirped happily. "Storm-Fly, next me, next you."

A growl escaped Dreamer's mouth before he realised what he was doing. He quickly bit it off and pressed the back of his paw to his snout, staring at his friend with wide eyes.

Wanderer stared back at him… then burst out laughing. "Yes, best-friend, I eat before you," he wheezed out when he'd calmed a bit. "Not feel bad. Maybe one night, you fight me for it?" He grinned toothily, still sniggering.

Dreamer grumbled at him. "I already fight this fledgling. He still attack."

"Hrrr, need show him you stronger. You maybe win one fight, but you need win many. Until he know he lose if he fight you."

Which meant fighting, repeatedly. Fine. It would be good practise.

He gave himself a thorough shake, then prowled up to the Spine-Tail fledgling with a growl and met the expected charge with his shoulder, taking the hard horn with ease. This Spine-Tail was very light in comparison to the Nightstrikers, there was no weight behind the charge. What was he afraid of?

Dreamer swiped at him – but might as well have been patting him, having completely failed to put any force into the strike whatsoever. The Spine-Tail chirped in confusion, and then Dreamer was darting back from snapping teeth.

_Grah,_ what had happened? Of course, he'd pulled his strike. He forced his shaking body to still, to calm, then dodged the next charge and closed his eyes a moment to get himself in the right mindset.

He had the right instincts, clearly, but how to tap into them? He looked up and stared at the fledgling, who came to a stop, turned, and screeched in frustration. Were this fledgling Snotlout-

No, that was a bad way to think apparently, if his suddenly overwhelming desire to cower was anything to go by. Not Snotlout, just what he appeared to be. Dreamer stood tall and stepped aside from the next charge.

He hadn't wanted to fly away. Why not? Obviously he didn't want to submit to this… petulant child. Yes, he was ahead of him in the hierarchy, and would eat first-

_That_ was the thought he needed. Dreamer immersed himself in it, with the thought that if he lost then he would grow hungry while this fledgling grew fat. _Strike hard, win fast._ A snarl tore through his teeth and he rocketed forward, bodily pouncing the fledgling and rolling them over to pin him to the ground. He held his head over the fledgling's, still snarling-

The snarl became a squeak as he was picked up by something closing around his flanks, and his paws and wings flailed helplessly in the air until he was dropped back to the ground. He twisted to land upright, but was then flattened by something big and heavy. By Stormfly, whose head appeared in front of him to squawk before disappearing again.

_What!?_ He was only doing…

The fledgling shakily got to his feet and glanced over, and Dreamer recoiled at the _fear_ in his expression.

"You maybe fight _too_ much," Wanderer mumbled as he approached, then hummed in amusement. "I never think I would say that."

Dreamer groaned and let his chin drop to the rock. "This hard for me," he said with a whine.

"You not do bad," Wanderer said reassuringly. "Wrrr, maybe small bad. Storm-Fly just reminding you she eat first."

That made him feel a little better… and then a whole lot worse, remembering all the times Wanderer had been told off on Berk, for taking from the food table, jumping in the fire, chewing furniture… How was he supposed to know?

But that was part of learning… He'd just been told off for it and had remembered. Most of the time. Some things, like rolling in the fire, he seemed to think worth being chastised.

"Maybe it good anyway, that fledgling not fight you now," Wanderer said with a laugh, then trotted to their usual spot and flopped onto his back.

Well, that was one positive at least. It was better to learn and fight his wrongness with Wanderer, not some random Spine-Tail fledgling, barely-…

How old _was_ this fledgling anyway? He was slightly smaller than Dreamer, like all the other Spine-Tail fledglings, but Dreamer was over two years old; in body, at least. Assuming equal growths, there should be two more generations of Spine-Tails in the nest, but there weren't any much smaller than this one. Could he really have grown so much so quickly?

The weight on Dreamer's back relented and he hopped forward, relieved to be free-

Jaws closed down around his flanks, and his paws scrabbled at the air as he was lifted again and dropped back in front of Stormfly. She looked at him with an unreadable expression, but didn't make any move to pin him again. _Okay…?_ He trotted forward, only for her to drag him back again.

He gave her an affronted huff, then squeaked as her giant paw pressed him to the ground. "Gentle," she trilled, then lifted her paw and nudged him forward.

After recovering from the stumble, he grumbled and trotted over to the fledgling with a friendly croon. The young Spine-Tail watched him warily, then scented him as he neared. Dreamer scented him back, once again finding it difficult to make much out of the sheer unfamiliar detail his nose provided him with.

He didn't let it mar the moment though, and gave the fledgling a friendly nuzzle like Wanderer had done. This seemed to relax him somewhat, and he briefly returned the nuzzle before running back to his dam.

Dreamer sighed in relief, grateful all that was all over with, then wearily padded over to Wanderer and settled in next to him. It was only early afternoon, but he felt like he'd been awake for days…

* * *

Some time later, Dreamer blinked himself awake to a commotion, and yawned widely before turning to see what was going on.

Huh, Wanderer was over there, tussling with a Spine-Tail fledgling. One of… four, he realised after a quick count. _Oh no, they're multiplying…_ Then Storm-Fly alighted on the ledge with a fifth fledgling and dropped him with the others.

Wanderer noticed him staring at in total confusion, and bounded over. "You awake!"

"…Maybe?"

He laughed. "These Storm-Fly's fledglings! We kill bad thought. Hrrr, maybe not, but she not leave this clutch now!" He bounced around in a circle, elated at the development.

Dreamer shook his head with a grin, not even a week in this new nest and already upheaving pack dynamics. _Wrrr,_ just as long as they didn't need to kill its queen again.

The new fledglings seemed to realise he was awake and ran over, tails held high and lashing side to side to keep their balance, but kept a respectful distance from Wanderer as they rushed past him. They shoved their snouts in Dreamer's face, nostrils flaring as they eagerly scented him, and gave him an opportunity to scent each in turn.

He was starting to recognise the familial similarity… Sort of like how the taste of mutton differed from boar, but both were land-prey. Although, by the time he scented the third fledgling his nose was completely burned out to the subtler details, anything more than their unique scent and whether it was the sort of mellow warmth of the three females or sharp heat of the one new male.

One of the females growled at him, but was subsequently pounced by the male and then they were all tussling playfully.

Or… not so playfully, actually, and one familiar fledgling wasn't part of it. Dreamer slumped as he realised what was going on. "I need fight _all_ new fledglings!?" he squeaked at Wanderer.

"Hrrr, maybe," his friend replied casually. "I did, but I wanted that. I think you only need fight new male, he fight much for hierarchy. These males eat before females, so beat them, females not challenge."

Well, that wasn't as bad as four more. Hopefully he didn't mess this up again.

* * *

Wanderer was feeling confident in his efforts, trying as they had sometimes been. Once Storm-Fly retrieved her fledglings, it wasn't difficult to convince the other female nest-kin of the Long-Paw nest to do the same. He didn't personally understand why they hadn't already done so on their own, given it didn't conflict with the bad thought, but he had learned long ago that their thinking was very different. Other nest-kin lived in the moment, not thinking forward or back other than how it would affect them presently.

For instance, the first fledgling Dreamer had fought for hierarchy was initially _terrified_ of his smaller Nightstriker kin. So much so, he'd actually been very well behaved for a pawful of lights, until the other raucous fledglings coaxed him back to his stubbornness. But since that first fight Dreamer had been nothing but playful, and now he barely even remembered how terrifying his kin could be, often trying his patience and generally being demanding.

Aside from the abandoned fledglings there was also the grim sight at the bottom of the nest, but it was _too_ hot down there and not a good place for nesting or anything so there wasn't any real harm in that bad thought. There might be if enough nest-kin perished there, but only those hatched before the queen's demise would be inclined to do so. It would solve itself in time, more or less.

What he _didn't_ know what to do with was the not-nest-kin who had presumably nested here with the queen and since flown out into the world, but returned to obey that bad thought to bring their fledglings here. They weren't present to convince otherwise, and approaching the alpha himself was a _bad_ idea.

A _really_ bad idea, Wanderer realised as he watched the big Fire-Scale ascend through the nest.

He had never known any creature other than Nightstrikers to hatch again, they simply grew weaker until they perished. However, this alpha was clearly much older than what a Fire-Scale would normally grow to, and had somehow grown strong instead of weak, his scales bold and dark instead of dull and pale. When his gaze briefly fell on Wanderer on the way past, it held an intensity that froze him in place.

No, such a Fire-Scale would not entertain his presence, not now as a weak little fledgling with no fire. When he grew big and strong he would be capable of demanding something of such an alpha, even one as big and experienced as this one, but not soon enough. Not soon enough to help the next generation of fledglings.

_Grrr,_ was this how Dreamer had felt about his own nest? All the time? Perceiving a wrong with the world that could not be corrected with respectful words or claws and fangs… It was stifling, and weighed on his back as much as his thoughts.

He glanced furtively at Storm-Fly, busy with her other fledglings, then briskly crept to the edge of the outcrop and dropped off it. He needed to stretch his wings and fly like a Nightstriker, fast and far.

Though it was tempting, it would be indecent to use his sound-sight within the nest, so he slowed his descent a little to shoot out of the lower crevice at only high speed. Once out of the nest, however, he angled up into the sky and pumped the air with his wings to climb, then let himself freefall back towards the misty water below. Here he could use his sound-sight, and he angled his sub-wings in _just_ the right way to cut the air with a piercing shriek.

He pulled up just inside the mist, eyes practically blind at the speed he was travelling but easily dodging through the maze clearly visible all around him. All too soon however the rocks fell away behind, and then he emerged into clear skies.

A roar of _freedom, triumph,_ rang out through the air, and then he angled himself down to skim just above the water, chasing his shadow cast by the sinking sky-fire toward the drinking pool.

For other nest-kin, particularly fledglings, it was a fair flight, and most preferred to regularly lick the damp rocks within the fog so that they did not need to come so far this often. For a Nighstriker, the journey was hardly inconvenient; the only nest-kin who could compete in speed were Spine-Tails, but they worked their wings hard to do so.

It was again over far too quickly when the tiny-land came into view, a speck of rock hardly big enough to run around on. Most of it was carved into a basin that trapped the water that regularly fell from the sky, more than enough to sustain even the inflated nest, particularly with the option of the damp rocks that was close to sustaining anyway.

He flared his wings to slow himself, and alighted gently on the pale rock at the edge of the water. After slaking his thirst, as he might as well, he slipped into the fresh water and drifted around it for a little while, enjoying that it was cool but not as cold as the sea. After circling it a pawful of times, he emerged on the other side and began licking the water off himself before the mild sky-fire could dry him. The preening helped keep him relaxed…

But then, suddenly, the isolation struck him. He hadn't been on his own, or even just with Dreamer, since arriving in the nest. Storm-Fly or Alpha-Tail had always been watching… Wrrr, he could take care of himself.

…But… he felt… something. A building tension, an oppressive silence. _Danger?_ He set his paw back on the ground and lowered into a nervous crouch, glancing around. Behind him, the water sloshed happily against the rock, the sounds startingly clear in his heightened awareness. His ears twitched, finding angles to listen around him without the wind humming into them. Movement in the water, but there could be no danger there. A shadow on the surface-

He desperately launched himself into the pool without another thought, tucking everything tightly to his body as claws as long as his _tail_ shredded the water around him in an instant. He powered through the frothy haze and launched from the other side, then flung himself into the air and frantically worked his wings.

A daring glance back showed the Fire-Scale alpha completing a wide turn, stretching his giant wings in preparation. His eyes were on Wanderer, eyes of a hunter bearing down on its prey.

_Him._

He straightened himself and flapped hard and fast, quickly building speed, but the alpha was an incredibly strong flier and the groaning of the air with his heavy wingbeats drew steadily closer. Wanderer was certainly faster, but he wasn't going to get a chance to reach that speed, not even close!

Angling up into the sky, his wings ate through air like a starved fledgling, and then he threw himself down to pick up speed. Some of his terror melted as his sound-sight picked out the Fire-Scale bearing down on him, still closing the distance even after using his dive for speed.

He focused on the blurry image of the alpha behind him, distorted with every wingbeat but growing clearer as he drew nearer. His pounding heart leapt as long talons extended above him, giving him ample warning to swerve out of the way, but seeing them that way was _terrifying!_

Again he angled back up into the sky, though now the fog was to his side, barred to him by the Fire-Scale creeping up next to him. Again he angled his wings to angle him back to the water, then in the same movement threw them back to power him down. Again the Fire-Scale got himself between him and the concealing fog, forcing him into another sharp bank that cost him speed.

But he was slowly approaching the fog wall; the alpha could accelerate more quickly, but Wanderer was faster and more nimble. Again he rose and used the height for speed, and then again, veering away from deadly teeth and claws all the while, before nipping within the alpha's wingspan to cut across into the fog-

And then heave himself to the side again as teeth snapped down on where he'd been. This fog was concealing, but only at a distance, and his pursuer was too close! He weaved between pillars, taking a highly convoluted path, but he just couldn't lose him!

Wet air heavy in his burning lungs, Wanderer weaved between a tightly grouped cluster of rocks and spun around one to grab onto the other side. He scampered up it, claws easily grabbing the layered stone, hoping-

The Fire-Scale's large head snaked out of the gloom above him, hissing triumphantly. Wanderer cried out _fear, danger, panic,_ and pushed from the rock, madly flapping and squawking piteously for help – as if Storm-Fly could hear him, still far away and behind thick rock surrounded by noisy fledglings and a whole nest of sound, but he was desperate!

A thick gout of flame fell before him, though it wasn't an obstacle itself the sudden intense heat creating a billowing turbulence and momentarily obscured his vision. He turned hard from the pillar suddenly in front of him, slipping over the wake of the fire-

And then yelped as a line of agony cut shallowly down his back, from claws attached to the wing that covered his flank and pulled him down. He used it, twisting to swoop in the other direction and abuse the alpha's wide turning circle.

_Even still,_ the alpha somehow turned and gained on him, and now his wing faltered on every upstroke. _Fear, danger, desperate!_ he cried out, winded from exertion and quickly losing strength.

A Spine-Tail called out and he angled towards the sound, repeating his cry with everything he had left. He was close, so very close…

Alpha-Tail suddenly materialised in the gloom, swooping down over him and firing so closely that Wanderer felt the heat on his tail, the white-hot fire enough to give even a Fire-Scale pause.

Wanderer roared weakly in relief and gratitude, then fled swiftly and silently from the sounds of more fire behind him. Alpha-Tail would be okay, as long as Wanderer quickly removed himself so that there was nothing to need protecting anymore.

Even still, he let out a relieved croon as there was no bellow of triumph, no roar of dominance. There was no frustrated exclamation either, but this alpha did not seem one to lose his temper as Fire-Scales were prone to doing.

No… He had been very deliberate and calm the entire time. Wanderer shivered, despite having just ducked through the low crevasse into the balmy warm-nest; the alpha wanted to kill him, probably Dreamer too. But he couldn't leave, not while there was still wrongness in the nest.

Riding the rising air up the nest did not bring as much relief as he'd hoped, the regular flaring of pain down his back becoming a lesser but more constant burning as his wings stilled. He felt blood running down his right wing, tickling the sensitive edge where it met his side, then running along his sub-wing and tail. _Wrrr,_ he was still flying, so it couldn't be _all_ that bad however much it hurt.

_Finally,_ he reached his ledge and dropped onto it, making two whole steps before collapsing with a groan. A familiar bark of alarm pricked his ears, and he managed to drag his gaze to Dreamer rushing for him.

_Hurt, relief, weary,_ Wanderer groaned, then purred as Dreamer licked the hurt for him. He understood that explanations would come later, and Wanderer would remind him that he didn't need to stay here… but he would stay, for which Wanderer was grateful. As long as they stayed near their adoptive kin, Storm-Fly and Alpha-Tail, they would be reasonably safe. As safe as one could be, in life.

Storm-Fly was with him a moment later, warbling worriedly. Wanderer replied with a long regretful whine – a promise to not fly off on his own in future – and she hummed _content_ before licking him over his head and down his neck and returning to her fledglings.

Dreamer stayed with him while he caught his breath, but didn't ask, didn't fret, simply tended his wound until it stopped bleeding and then settled in next to him with a constant, comforting purr. During that time, Alpha-Tail returned to the ledge, the approaching wings gripping Wanderer's attention like prey in his jaws.

The big Spine-Tail now sported a shallow gash down his face, starting at his crown of quills and curving down to his jaw; the bigger scales on the top of his head had taken the brunt of the strike, though a pawful had been torn off. It seemed the only injury he'd sustained, as Storm-Fly licked it clean and gave him a hearty nuzzle.

He understood now. Storm-Fly, somehow knowing of the danger, must have sent Alpha-Tail after him. She'd allowed him to mark her two pawfuls of lights ago, a promise of mating in the next cooling-season, but he would still want to prove himself a good mate. Protecting one of her fledglings, even an adopted one, earned him significant favour.

But then, what he couldn't work out was why… _hrrr…_ 'Very-Bent-Tooth', and the yet unnamed Two-Head had apparently followed after him as well, alighting on the ledge and each giving him a nuzzle and _sympathetic, apologetic_ croon. They had no reason to do as Storm-Fly wanted.

_Wrrr,_ it didn't matter. Wanderer nudged Dreamer with a grateful and prompting purr. "I… not stay where Storm-Fly can see me," he admitted sheepishly.

Dreamer swatted him. "I see that," he growled. "You find hungry Fire-Scale again?"

"No," Wanderer growled back after batting away Dreamer's paw. "Alpha find me."

"Alpha?" Dreamer chirped curiously.

"Yes. He try kill me."

There was silence for a long moment. "We safe here?" was the eventual, tentative response.

"If stay where Storm-Fly can see us, I think we safe. I need fix nest, but you not need stay-"

Dreamer cut him off by lightly wrapping teeth around his head and growling in his ear. Wanderer chuckled. "I know you not, I just say you can leave if want."

"I not want," Dreamer growled grumpily as he withdrew his teeth and ruffled his wings. "Why alpha attack you?"

"Not know. Not matter. If he find us alone, he kill us. Not go near him."

Dreamer huffed and mumbled something about fighting before shuffling closer, and Wanderer happily tucked his head between Dreamer's forelegs and neck to purr himself into a doze.

Much time later, long after the sky-fire burned out and the sky grew dark, sleep had still not taken him. That blurry, colourless image of talons extending above him was fixed in his mind, and his back itched in expectation of it springing to life and finishing the attack. He gave up, as the more he rested the less tired he was and the less likely he was to sleep, and gingerly stretched out.

His gaze drifted over his nest-kin, the ones who had been his nest-kin in the Long-Paw nest, and he purred gratefully. They had protected him, as he had once protected all them, though they seemed to think him his own son; they must be extremely grateful to pass that gratitude to his kin.

Alpha-tail opened an eye, then lazily rocked his head beckoningly. Wanderer padded over, purring loudly, and nuzzled his face before licking at the wound he'd taken in distracting the alpha. Alpha-Tail purred back at him, then lifted one of his wings a little.

Wanderer glanced at it, met his gaze hopefully, then crawled under the wing and snuggled up to his side, where his eyes finally allowed themselves to drift closed…

* * *

"I'm telling you, he's right there!" Tuffnut gestured dramatically to the courtyard, staring sternly at the young merchant. "He's going to get offended if you don't at _least_ say hello, and you _don't_ want to offend a dragon…"

"Uh… Okay… I think I hear my dad calling." The kid turned slowly and started walking away.

"Retribution will be swift! Retribution will be just! Thou shalst be setteth afire!" The both of them leapt into the air as the kid's trousers spontaneously caught fire, and then occupant of said trousers started moving a _lot_ more quickly, running a short distance before tearing off the garment and stamping out the flames.

Tuffnut stared after him, then at his hands. "Wait, did _I_ do that? Do I have magic powers!? Yes! My enemies will bow before me!" He pointed at his sister. "You! Foul creature! Your presence offends me, be goneth from thoust plane of existinence!" He noticed her expression and instantly deflated. "Oh, _great._ I should have known. Why, sister, why do you do this to me?"

Ruffnut beamed at him. "I think the better question, dear brother, is _how_ I did this to you."

He stared at her. "…Touché."

"And him. But mostly you."

Tuffnut frowned, then inspected his trousers carefully. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he sighed and kicked a rock into the crowd; maybe it would hit someone's ankle and start something interesting. "Man, it's just not the same."

"I'm so glad you noticed! I watered it down a bit more this time, then added-"

"No, I mean, this routine. I miss Belch."

"Oh no, _you_ don't get to mope about that," she barked sternly, holding a finger to his face. "Not after _all that talk_ about-"

"I _know_ what I said," he shot back, slapping the hand away and head-butting her to glare right into her face. "Just because I happen to agree with something doesn't mean I have to be happy about it!"

She shoved her head back into his, pushing him back. "I respectfully disagree, especially when _we_ had _nothing_ to_ do_ with _that!"_

They glared at each other, gritting their teeth and grinding their helmets together, but then the fight sort of just bled out of them. They both glanced to the side, where there would normally be a Hideous Zippleback fighting with itself by now.

Twin sighs were lost to the crowd, and they slumped back against the wall of the forge.

Not long later, Fishlegs' distinctive voice could be heard over the murmur of the crowd. "See? What did I tell you. Just follow the fire and or screaming. Every time."

"Oh great," Tuffnut groaned, "it's _you two_."

"Good to see you too," Astrid, carrying two large sacks, drawled sarcastically, her voice grating on his already dour mood. "Maybe I don't want to bring you after all."

"We ain't goin' nowhere," Ruffnut shot back gloomily. "Wherever you're going it can wait until we can fly there, it's only been a few weeks."

"Forty-seven days, to be exact," Fishlegs supplied unnecessarily.

Astrid dropped one of the sacks into Tuffnut's arms. "Yeah well we're not waiting," she said before he could drop it unceremoniously, then strode towards the docks with a resolute determination befitting of Stoick himself. "We're going to get them back."

Tuffnut shared a long look with Ruffnut. A voyage with Astrid, but to the dragon nest, just like the bad old days? He slung the sack over his shoulder and marched after her. "Count us in."


	30. Ascertain

"Please," Wanderer begged with his nose low to the ground, then slapped the young Spine-Tail next to him with his wing to do the same.

The female Spine-Tail he was addressing chittered thoughtfully, then walked up to scent the fledgling. Wanderer watched with bated breath, then quietly exhaled as she apparently deemed him acceptable and licked over his head and quills, marking him with her scent.

Wanderer crept back and dropped soundlessly from the ledge, leaving them to get to know each other more closely. The fledgling was quite a way behind in learning many things, but the female who had just adopted him was only watching two fledglings of her own so would have more time to spend on him.

It was tricky to find suitable candidates for adoption. If a dam still had a full clutch of her own, she would be too tired or busy to want to adopt another or would spread her time too thin between them all. On another wind, there was always the question of _why_ a dam might have fewer fledglings to watch.

But that was over with now, at least for the Spine-Tails; there was no longer a rowdy group of them romping around the nest. Really, once the Long-Paw nest-kin had taken their own fledglings back, it had been too small to cause much trouble anyway – or to defend itself with numbers – but the roughly two clutches or so had taken time.

Interestingly, there was still a significant group of Stone-Scales, enough that they didn't need _immediate_ protection. Wanderer presumed once their population exceeded what could be supported by the trickle of molten rock rising from below, they had started finding other homes. There was also that Stone-Scales were much more lax in picking mates, and thus those fledglings weren't in such desperate need of a dam to nurture and teach them.

Wrrr, on any wind, his eyes were narrowed on them now. He just hoped he could find enough families for them.

But right now, he wanted to enjoy what he had accomplished before starting on another big task. Once he started whittling down the numbers of the errant group, removing their safety of numbers, he wouldn't be able to stop.

He was a little tempted to nip outside to lick the tangy rocks rising out of the sea, as he was a bit parched and the taste appealed to him at the moment, but a certain Fire-Scale lounging below was more than enough reminder of why he didn't dare.

Wanderer smirked, recalling his revenge for the injury he had received. Many nest-kin had not only retained the urge to bring food for the queen, but also adjusted their thinking to apply it to this alpha instead. It explained how he could support the many female Fire-Scales and fledglings, most of who were with him on the tallest plateau at the bottom of the nest.

Or, more accurately, _had_ supported. Not every nest-kin bringing food could be convinced out of it, but Wanderer had seen to a considerable drop in supply. It was perfect timing, as the fledglings would be taken hunting soon, but not _quite_ yet, so these females would remember the alpha's failure to provide without it affecting the young too much.

And they would probably then move away, like most other Fire-Scales had already. Wanderer supposed that was because they were more territorial, so having more space to claim would be appealing to them.

However, the sight of all the females around the alpha, many only a pawful of season-cycles old, filled Wanderer with rage; he had a pretty good guess as to what had happened to the males of their generations. He turned his head up instead and beat his wings to rise more rapidly through the nest.

_Rrrr,_ he needed to burn some fire. He alighted on his ledge and stalked towards the others, noting Dreamer tangled up with Storm-Fly's fledglings – none of them could provide the challenge he needed right now anyway.

He wanted to play with Alpha-Tail, but annoyingly he wasn't present. There was the Two-Head, who was too tricky for his liking, or Fish-Legs' Rock-Scale, who was slow and boring, or the rock-head's Fire-Scale, who Wanderer might enjoy fighting a little _too_ much but not for good reasons.

Storm-Fly squawked _enquiry_ at him, which he responded to with a growl and lash of his tail. She turned to chitter at her older daughter – of course! Storm-Fly had a daughter to watch her fledglings for a moment! And it was not as if they were going anywhere.

She was barely given a chance to beckon with a playful growl before Wanderer leapt at her, claws and teeth aimed for her soft chest, but a wing casually batted him away. _Yes, yes, yes!_ He rolled to his paws and charged again, ducking the wing to briefly sink his teeth into her leg before darting under and behind her. She barked in surprise, then crouched aggressively with a hiss and flung a pawful of spines from her tail that landed between his paws as he ran.

He had to abort his next charge, blocked by a stream of fire, and sprinted around her instead. She hopped in place, almost managing to keep up with him – but not quite. He got around behind her to grapple her tail, doing so from an angle to flatten the spines instead of impale himself on them, and clamped his jaws down around it. Not something he would do in a normal fight, but he was only having fun.

Storm-Fly lifted him from the ground and swung him off, two of her spines remaining in his teeth as he slid off her; that had been a weird sensation. They clattered to the ground as he tossed them aside, and then he was on the offensive again.

She wasn't letting him win, as she sometimes did, but adjusted her strength and speed so that she was _just_ outfighting him. She fended him off until he got through her guard to scratch at her chest, then kicked him away and chased after him.

Taking inspiration from Dreamer, he feinted to the side before spinning entirely, and she squawked in surprise again as he darted between her legs and got behind her. Digging his paws in to lunge at her again, he-

He reacted to something bowling into his side, reflexively snarling and grappling the attacker with teeth and claws – then froze in horror at the black scales he had latched onto.

Then squeaked in surprise as Dreamer clamped jaws over his neck and wrested him off, then got paws around his torso and forced him to the ground and into a pin.

Wanderer lay there, staring wide-eyed at the ground pressed to his nose. What had just happened?

Dreamer released him and placed a paw on his shoulder with a triumphant bark, then hurriedly backed off and scampered in front of him. "I not hurt you?" he asked worriedly, crouched low with wide eyes. "You playing with Storm-Fly, I not see where going, not think about your back-hurt, I sorry!" He hopped forward and licked at the scar down Wanderer's back, now just a dull ache and mild tightness.

But Wanderer didn't care about that. "You fought!" he shouted as he leapt to his paws, spinning into a playful stance with his hindquarters in the air and his whole face pulled into a huge smile. "You can fight me!"

"I getting better," Dreamer mumbled, abashedly pawing at the ground.

"You fought!" Wanderer repeated, bouncing high into the air around and over Dreamer in his elation, then tackled him to the ground to hold him close with loud purrs and ferocious nuzzling.

Dreamer squirmed, playfully and dramatically trying to pull himself free. "Grah! Storm-Fly! Help!" But she just clucked in amusement and went back to her fledglings. He then roared in mock-panic as Wanderer enthusiastically licked over his head and neck. Eventually he squirmed his way free, then cleaned his now somewhat damp face.

"We fight?" Wanderer growled playfully, flipping upright and kneading the ground in anticipation.

"Hrr, maybe later," Dreamer replied, deflating Wanderer's enthusiasm, as he walked to the edge to look down the nest. "This what I wanted tell you, I think something happening."

* * *

Dreamer beckoned Wanderer to the edge, then stared down into the nest. He wasn't totally familiar with it all yet, but he was pretty certain _something_ was going on. Nest-kin were corralling their fledglings up the nest, onto the upper ledges where they warily kept watch, but the chatter coming from below had an edge of excitement to it.

Wanderer trotted up next to him to look around, then glanced back over the ledge with a bark and a gesture down the nest. Stormfly warbled back curiously and took to the air, and the other Berkian dragons were apparently interested enough to follow; the fledglings were warned to stay behind, being old enough to be left alone for a short time.

Pulling up just behind Wanderer, who flew slightly ahead of Stormfly, Dreamer chirped curiously at him, but his friend only replied with a confused croon; he didn't know what was happening either. What could get the attention of so many dragons at once like this?

They swooped through a fissure and emerged into open air, above the perpetual fog that surrounded the island. The first thing Dreamer noticed was that, despite the excitement and flurry of activity, there were no other dragons in the air. Even some of the Berkian Nadders fell back and clung to the mountainside with all the other dragons, who were all looking down…

There was a small green light, visible through the haze, too constant to be dragon fire. Something had been set _on_ fire. Wanderer barked in recognition at almost the same time Dreamer realised himself, and started descending warily. Dreamer took a moment to call out to the Nadders that had pulled away before catching up.

A fire could only mean one thing, which was quickly confirmed by the big boat pulled ashore sporting the Berk crest on the sail flapping loosely in the wind. Figures on the rock beach were soon visible after that, maybe a dozen of them, crowded around the fire. All of a sudden the scene was very familiar, the atmosphere of the dragons humming excitedly but warily and mostly staying out of sight.

Wanderer led them down a short distance away, just far enough the figures could not be identified by their murky silhouettes, but so many dragons landing all at once was not exactly subtle. The figures instantly rose and began approaching.

How did Dreamer feel about this? He wasn't sure, hadn't been given enough time to think about it. He just watched the figures impassively as they spread out, features gradually moving into focus.

His sire was the first he truly recognised, by stature alone. That helped, a bit, warming Dreamer's heart with the fact that he'd come. The teens were soon simple to distinguish as well, Fishlegs' round figure, Snotlout's short stature, the twins appearing identical next to each other, and…

The other dragons walked forward, towards their riders.

_"Barf!" "Hey Belch." "Oh I'm so happy to see you!" "Yeah, it's good to see you too."_

_"There's my Meatlug! Ohhh I missed you so much girl, have you been eating enough? Getting enough rest?"_

_"Hooky, big guy, don't go running off on me like that! Ow! Yeah yeah, alright, I missed you too, ya big lug…"_

The adults were less vocal in their reunion, but Dreamer could just about make out Spitelout smiling warmly as he stroked Kingstail's head, and Hork leaning over the male Gronckle to hug his neck.

Two were without dragons. Stoick, as he had none of his own, and Astrid.

Dreamer cocked his head and glanced around, finding Stormfly standing behind him and Wanderer. He quietly chirped _enquiry_ at her, and her gaze snapped down to look at him. She seemed conflicted. "You want go to her?" he asked.

Stormfly hummed, then went back to staring warily at Astrid. Dreamer understood entirely. Astrid was not one to lash out or hurt dragons, and the guilt of what she was doing at the time was clearly heavy on her… but she had still gone through with it.

But perhaps, he wasn't being entirely fair. She held no small amount of blame, but he couldn't expect everyone to stand against the entire village; Astrid certainly was not one to do that.

He sighed and glanced across at Wanderer, who was watching him curiously. Dreamer twitched his head promptingly, wanting to hear his thoughts.

Wanderer hummed and looked back to Stormfly. "Rock-Scale fledglings still need dams. I not want leave yet. But we not can stay with no protection."

So, it depended on Stormfly, and Dreamer had a strange sense she was relying on the Nightstrikers to make a decision.

He put that aside for the moment, ignoring Astrid to pad over to his father.

Stoick smiled warmly as he approached, and lowered to his knees. _"Hello –"_ his eyes furtively flicked to Dreamer's flank, _"– Hiccup. Still growing, I see. It's good to see you're well."_

Dreamer's ears perked, but then he realised he _had_ grown a bit in the last month or so, now that he was comparing himself to something more familiar…

A polite croon announced Wanderer coming up beside him, and Stoick smiled warmly at him as well; that too, gave Dreamer a warm feeling.

_"Toothy, good to see you too,"_ he said sincerely. _"I-… I'm so sorry… I want to promise we'll do better… but we've failed you so much already. You are most welcome to, but I will not ask you to come back with us."_ Something dark and malevolent entered his expression, a deep frustration. _"Not after what we've done."_ He reached out to put a hand to the Nightstrikers' jaws.

Dreamer purred and nuzzled the hand; Stoick understood more than Dreamer had ever thought him capable of. His reservations on returning to Berk were melting away, he was still wary of danger but it was really no more dangerous than where he was now. He just needed to be mindful of how valuable he was, as uplifting and bitter as that thought was.

"Hey," Wanderer nudged him excitedly and gestured off to the side. "I have thinking." As he started explaining, Dreamer swatted at him, but Wanderer insisted he was serious. "You need see he not can hurt you now."

This felt wrong… but if the last few months had made _anything_ clear, it was that Dreamer _really_ needed to be able to fight when he needed to, and not just when his mind let him. He had been lucky that, so far, when Wanderer had been in true danger it had not immediately had more dire consequences.

_Fine._ He strode over to Hookfang, getting his attention with a short bark, then warbled reassuringly. Hookfang turned, stared for a moment before scenting him, then huffed warm air over him. It wasn't part of what Wanderer had suggested, but it would have been rude not to.

He turned to calmly walk up to Snotlout, putting his back to Hookfang.

_"Hey, uh, Hiccup!"_ Snotlout said cheerily._ "No hard feelings, right? You know good old Snotlout didn't have anything to do with that. _I_ wouldn't have given you over. Hey, why don't you come back with me and I'll show you what a_ real_ dragon rider can do?"_

…Wow, really? Dreamer glanced back at Hookfang in amusement, who couldn't possibly have known what had been said but still looked embarrassed to as much as _know_ Snotlout right now.

Dreamer shook his head, then mustered all his confidence, fighting off the rotten, stupid instincts… and raised a paw to – while being mindful of his very short but once again sharp claws – push Snotlout's shoulder.

He'd pulled his strike again, like with the Nadder fledgling, but Snotlout still staggered back on the loose stones. _"Wha-? Hey, what was that for?"_ Dreamer hit him again, a little harder. _"Quit it!"_

Dreamer's nose twitched in agitation; he needed to _fight_ Snotlout, not just push him around. He shoved hard enough that Snotlout tripped and fell over backwards.

_"That's it!"_

Pushing down the nervous rolling in his stomach, Dreamer stared at him intently. He _needed_ to do this, _wanted_ to do this… but above all else, he _could_ do-

The anger in Snotlout's expression was unmistakable, his brow lowered, arms and jaw tensed, and upper lip pulled towards his nose. A look Dreamer had seen a thousand times before, a look he had always known to flee from, though it rarely made a difference, a look that always brought pain, and suffering, and bruises, and cuts, and a broken arm, and trips to Gothi, and condescending looks, and the scorn of his father, and the pain didn't stop, he wanted it to stop, make it STOP-!

Something impacted with the side of his neck, and… that was it. Dreamer cracked open an eye to see Snotlout, with his arm still raised from his punch, staring at him in confusion. Probably because he was cowering, half-hidden under a wing and flinching back from this… this…

This tiny human. Dreamer straightened and looked down on Snotlout. _Down_ on him, as Dreamer was a full paw taller now, to say nothing of the rest of his body.

_"What the Hel are you doing?"_ Snotlout exclaimed, his expression now incredulous and annoyed.

Dreamer gestured to his neck, then Snotlout's arm, then pushed him again. The reaction was much quicker, another punch swiftly delivered to his chest. Dreamer barely felt it.

What he _did_ feel was something like an entire _mountain_ of self-doubt, self-loathing, and other horrible feelings all crumble away. Wanderer was right, he _had_ needed this, even if it didn't quite go the way either of them expected.

He sat on his haunches and laughed as he batted Snotlout's helmeted head, then knocked aside the retaliation and tripped him over. _You're open everywhere!_ Snotlout raised his hands to defend his head, so Dreamer hit him in the stomach with the back of his paw, then knocked him on the head again.

_"Stop it!"_ came a frantic cry, and Dreamer relented. Not that Snotlout had when implored the same thing, but Dreamer wasn't going to be like him. Instead, he purred and touched his snout to Snotlout's cheek, then turned tail on him.

Unsurprisingly, he had everyone's attention.

_"Uhh, mind filling us in on what just happened?"_ Ruffnut asked flatly.

Tuffnut was beaming. _"Isn't it obvious!? He just took Snotlout's place in the pack! Oh man that was _glorious!"

Dreamer paused, now understanding what he'd just done, then glanced back at Snotlout with a chuckle; _I eat before you now._

He was distracted by Wanderer bounding up and ecstatically prancing around him, crooning and purring in delight. "Yes, I fight you later," Dreamer drawled, swatting at his friend.

There was something about this moment. Behind him, Hookfang playfully nudged Snotlout until the boy grabbed him by the horns and forced his head to the ground, from where he hissed contentedly. Stoick was staring at the Nightstrikers, a little confused but happy and pleased to see them, even proud for some reason. Fishlegs was back to doting over Meatlug, who smiled widely up at him with her whole body wagging. The twins were arguing, right next to Barf and Belch who were snapping and growling at each other.

There was nothing of this atmosphere in the warm-nest. Stormfly looked out for them and cared for them, but compared to this it felt lacklustre. The fledglings played with them, but lacked some sort of spark that the Vikings brought with them.

Long-Paws were fickle and complex, but that made their respect all the more heart-warming. It also reminded him of his quest to break down the human-dragon barriers everywhere, and though his original plan was grounded, he was _not_ going to give up on it, and this nest brought with it no opportunities as Berk did.

But, Wanderer did have a point that the Gronckle fledglings still needed proper homes… He wondered if they could be brought to Berk – then remembered that three of the dragons here already had fledglings, who were most certainly _not_ staying here at the nest while their dams flew off again. Although they didn't know it yet, Berk was about to adopt enough young dragons as it was.

Wrrr, four of those depended on Stormfly.

And _that,_ as far as Dreamer's intuition told him, entirely depended on how the Nightstrikers saw Astrid right now; Stormfly wasn't about to go flying with someone they saw as a threat to themselves.

Dreamer took a deep breath, then walked towards her, fixing her with a level gaze. Somehow, after dealing with Snotlout, he knew exactly what to do.

Astrid was trying to convince Stormfly to come closer, using a kind tone and an outstretched hand, but the Nadder just put her snout to the hand and withdrew. Astrid was taking another gentle step forward when Dreamer got her attention with a grunt.

Her expression lifted a little as she spotted him, but then her eyes widened as he growled. _"I really am sorry!"_ she pleaded. _"I had to, but Stoick's fixed all that now, it won't happen-!"_ She started walking backwards as Dreamer snarled increasingly loudly, drowning her out.

He wasn't interested in her excuses, only wanting one thing from her. They had trusted her, and she had taken their lives in her hands and done something terrible with them. It was only fair she accept him holding her life in return.

Therefore, when her hand went to her axe, he went silent and still, staring at it with no small measure of disappointment.

It was only a moment before she looked at the weapon as if it would come to life and bite her, and she hastily tossed it aside, but it was already done. Dreamer sighed and turned away, dismissing her with a flick of his tail.

Had this really been the woman of his dreams? How shallow he had been.

Stormfly, seeing his reaction, let out something between a squawk and a hiss, crouching a little and flaring her wings. That got Kingstail's attention, who hopped over to her, ignoring Spitelout calling after him.

"I want rest," Dreamer mumbled to Stormfly, and she chittered agreeably at him. "Wanderer," he called over to the other Nightstriker.

Wanderer was talking to one of the Nadders, the other female. He beckoned to her, and to Meatlug, as he trotted over to Dreamer. "They need get fledglings," he explained at Dreamer's enquiring glance.

Of course, no _way_ Fishlegs would let Meatlug leave without her fledglings once he met them, and hopefully the same would go for the other Nadder and whoever was paired with her. Dreamer nodded approvingly, then glanced back over the Vikings.

Stoick was watching him sadly, and Dreamer briefly met his gaze. He understood, but it was still painful for him; he had been trying his hardest to do right by the Nightstrikers, probably trying to make up for how he had treated his son in the only way he could, only to fail at that too. Dreamer nodded significantly at him, and his expression at least softened a bit.

Astrid was arguing with Tuffnut. Well, _at_ Tuffnut, who was giving her such a cold shoulder he was at risk of frostbite. Dreamer had no worry he would explain, he knew it was something she had to learn and understand herself. That was the only way they could be certain she was sincere.

But he felt a pang of sadness looking over the other riders with their dragons; aside from Spitelout, who just looked as if he didn't know what to do with himself. They all looked so happy to be reunited, enjoying the company. They all trusted their Long-Paws… Dreamer just wished he could trust them too.

Wanderer nuzzled his neck and he leaned into the gesture, then picked up his drooping wings and tail. "Come get fledglings," he reminded the females, then leapt into the air. The six of them ducked into a nearby crevasse and rode the warm air up to their ledge, to where the fledglings were sleeping and playing.

He let Wanderer sort them out, trudging to his little spot on the ledge to wearily flop onto his side.

Why did it feel like the whole world was weighing on his back?

* * *

Wanderer gave an impressed and satisfied huff, staring up into the nest, as Dreamer removed his paw from his chin and teeth from his throat, and they both dropped to all fours. Wanderer took to stretching and licked some of the deeper scratches he'd taken, a little miffed he'd been too slow to react to that last feint.

But, despite achieving his very first true victory against Wanderer, Dreamer just lay down to lay his head on his paws with a despondent sigh. He had never behaved normally when fighting was involved, but this was out of character even for him. Wanderer nudged his cheek with a worried croon.

Dreamer replied with a mild growl, a familiar noise Wanderer understood to mean that he didn't really know himself.

"This about not-your-female?" Wanderer asked with a cheeky lilt.

Big green eyes turned to briefly glare at him, then lowered to the ground. "I thought… she…"

Wanderer crooned understandingly and nuzzled him. He had trusted the fledgling-alpha too, trust she had betrayed. She had obviously not wanted to, and still regretted it now, but that hadn't stopped her.

After a short rest, Wanderer nudged his Dreamer. "Come, help me find Rock-Scale dams?"

"Hrrr, you go. I help next light."

Wanderer licked him over the forehead and then barked at Storm-Fly to alert her to his intent, then hopped into the air and ascended to the top ledges. He couldn't blame Dreamer for not wanting to participate, it was a boring task, but more than that he had to focus on it for there to be any point in trying. He had to find a Rock-Scale who had some but not too many other fledglings, and who appeared to at least be paying attention to them.

It wasn't long before his own mind started drifting, however. Dreamer's demeanour was similar to a time he had not eaten for a pawful of lights, and barely anything for many lights after that. He hadn't sunk nearly that far this time, but he moved in the same way, as if his own scales were weighing him down.

Wanderer's gaze drifted over to his own ledge where Dreamer was being harassed by energetic Spine-Tail fledglings, lazily swatting at them as they taunted him. Wanderer chuckled as he managed to grab one of the fledglings and pull them to the ground, holding them tightly while they struggled in his grip.

He shook his head and returned to his task, focusing on picking out the Rock-Scales from the actual rocks around them.

A quick scan of the nest turned up three more promising dams, one of which he passed over at a closer look but the other two taking a fledgling each. As he found each potential dam he would alight somewhere nearby and observe for a little while, then if he deemed her suitable he would find the fledglings and coax one away, convince them to follow him, then take them to the dam and hope for the best.

Things rarely didn't go well, just once with the Spine-Tails but only because the dam had flown off while he'd been convincing the fledgling to come to her. It had been easier when he could just pick them up and take them…

It all took time, particularly the searching and observing, but two fledglings wasn't a bad strike for one light. There were still pawfuls to go, and he had nagging doubts there even _were_ enough dams in the nest to take them all, but he would just keep scratching at it and eventually he'd break through.

He felt the alpha's eyes on him as he ascended from the bottom of the nest, pointedly refusing to look back. The alpha had not attacked them in the nest, not with Storm-Fly and Alpha-Tail protecting them, but Wanderer wasn't about to go giving him a reason to. It might only take a perceived taunt or challenge to provoke him.

The rising air helped him back up to his ledge, where his frills perked in warm amusement at his Dreamer, snuggled into a pile of Spine-Tail fledglings. The way they were arranged suggested they'd all got worn out while playing and just collapsed in a big heap, and then Dreamer had then apparently nuzzled his way under the quills of one of the females.

It was good that Dreamer had some other fledglings to play with, most likely something that had significantly contributed to his waning reticence to fight. And Wanderer doubted he would forget about the Long-Paw nest, particularly as Nightstrikers were instinctually pulled to remain with – or in this case, return to – the nest they most felt at home in.

Which was a strange feeling for Wanderer. He had lived in this warm-nest for around eight season-cycles, but it didn't feel like his home. The Long-Paw nest was fun and interesting, but held its own dangers which were difficult to look past when he just didn't understand enough of it to be comfortable, at least not without Dreamer guiding him.

He had been not too far from flying his first nest when it had been attacked and he'd been forced to flee. Thinking back, he now recognised that his blood-kin were starting to smell a bit stifling… It also explained why Sire kept throwing him in the lake. Wanderer grumbled and ruffled his wings as he alighted on the rock and trotted up to his kin.

…Would Dreamer start to smell wrong to him too?

He scented a dark paw stretched out from the pile, where the scents were strongest, careful not to disturb the sleeping fledglings. Under all the fledglings he'd been playing with, the exertion, the faint scents of the tall, tangy rocks outside the nest… there was nothing.

Wrrr, not nothing, but nothing to his instincts. He was simply scenting himself. That alleviated his worry.

With a wide yawn, he gently worked his way into a nook next to his Dreamer and drifted off with a purr.

* * *

_Fast!_ On the ground Dreamer was unquestionably faster, but up here in the air he was no competition whatsoever.

He was having to bank so sharply away from Wanderer's every attack that it felt his wings were being pulled from their sockets, but he always seemed to be flying in the wrong direction to do anything about it. He growled in frustration and swerved after Wanderer again, but found himself flying in a small circle trying to keep up with him, and then fleeing again as Wanderer swooped under and behind him to pick up the chase again. Whatever he did he could not prevent another light scratch down his wing, right with the others.

Yeah, he was done for today. He barked wearily and banked back to the mouth of the nest, where Storm-Fly perched to keep an eye on them and her fledglings swooping around below. She chirped happily at him as he alighted carefully on the jagged rim, then licked over his face and down his neck.

Grumbling quietly, he cleaned his face off. "Why she do that?" he asked Wanderer as he alighted next to him.

"She mark us," he said, as if this were the most obvious fact on Midgard. "Other nest-kin know we Storm-Fly's kin. Like Alpha-Tail mark her, other nest-kin know he mate with her this cooling season."

"That obvious, they do that anyway," Dreamer mumbled quietly.

Wanderer chirped in confusion. "What they do?"

"They…" Dreamer awkwardly shuffled his paws and wings; the word itself was embarrassing enough, let alone its definition. "They _mate_ already." He waved to indicate a pawful of times.

Big green eyes stared at him for several moments. Then Wanderer started laughing, tail thrashing behind him. "Nest-kin only mate in cooling-season," he chuckled once the initial amusement had worn off and Dreamer had swatted him a few times. "He only marking her, wrrr, give her his scent."

"Grrr I not know that," Dreamer grumbled, slapping his friend with a wing, then squeaked in surprise as Wanderer pounced him. Dreamer tumbled onto his side, automatically flexing so that he wasn't laying on his wing, and scrabbled at the air with all four paws to keep his attacker back. Wanderer just grabbed one in his teeth, then ignored the teeth in his ear to chew it merrily.

They play-fought and rested while the day wore on. Stormfly joined her fledglings in the air for a while, then took them all for a quick flight to the drinking pool late in the afternoon.

Dreamer looped in the air as it came into sight, but flared his wings to slow at a bark of _warning, danger._ A quick glance around showed they were alone in the air, but Storm-Fly was cautiously watching something on the horizon while keeping an eye on her fledglings, who watched the same place with avid curiosity.

Following their gaze, Dreamer spotted ships on the water; _hrrr,_ he was getting complacent with someone else looking out for him. They were angled partially to the side, just enough that he couldn't make out the crest on the sails, but it didn't really matter as they were hours away.

Not for a dragon. Storm-Fly's male fledgling suddenly flapped forward, but was quickly snatched from the air by long talons and taken down to the island. The Nightstrikers and other fledglings followed, playfully jeering at the male before slaking their thirst.

As they returned to the nest, Dreamer wondered why they never used the sea stacks in the fog. Wanderer had told him they were wet and apparently tasted good, like the iron apparatus that had corrected his tail fins, but she never led them down there. _Wrrr,_ then again, perhaps descending into the gloomy fog wasn't a good idea with the alpha after them. Still, he was curious.

He trotted to a halt on the ledge, then swung his tail around to his face. He knew what a Nightstriker tail was supposed to look like, Hel, he'd practically _built_ one, so the little imperfections in the fingers were very obvious to him.

A series of horrific memories flashed through his head, and he leaned into the fins to cover his face with them. Those memories felt distant and vague, like an elusive nightmare upon waking, but held themselves firmly to him with insidious roots that occasionally crept into his thinking; the sound of feathers cutting through the air _still_ made him jumpy, though there at least weren't any birds around this island.

After giving himself a firm shake, he glanced around for Wanderer. "We help fledglings?" he chirped at him, hoping for a distraction.

Wanderer stared at him for a few moments, looking weary, but then gave himself a quick shake. "Yes, we do. But fast, almost night."

"Yes," Dreamer replied with an agreeable croon, then barked at Storm-Fly and jumped into the air after him. Just something to distract him for a little while before they slept.

As usual, they started at the top of the nest and began making their way down, watching for any Rock-Scales with some fledglings but not too many. At least they were fairly easy to tell male from female at a glance; the males looked much gruffer, while Spine-Tails were less obvious without scenting them.

It wasn't long before Wanderer barked for Dreamer's attention and veered over to a ledge, dropping onto it and trotting into a group of Rock-Scales. He wouldn't be long, talking and playing with the dam and fledglings directly, so Dreamer circled around looking more closely at the nearby ledges. He spotted a potential target, though the ledge was a bit crowded, and swooped up to the wall nearby to cling to it, wings flapping awkwardly to hold him in place while he got a grip on the rock.

From there he had a good view of the ledge and the Rock-Scale family on it, sharing the space with some Spine-Tails, Two-Heads, and a Fire-Scale. It reminded him of the little gang on Berk… though he couldn't say he missed playing with Barf and Belch all that much; the way the two heads moved when they played, when they'd shown interest since moving to the warm-nest, weirded him out.

He gave his head a little shake and observed the Rock-Scale, waiting for something to give an indication of whether she would be suitable, but before he could come to any conclusions there was a Nightstriker bark echoing off the walls.

_Wrrr,_ if Wanderer had found one then they could always come back and check this one. Dreamer pushed from the wall, twisting and smoothly catching himself on the rising air of the nest, quickly locating his friend and gliding over. "I maybe find one," he said as he approached.

"Good, we maybe help two fledglings," Wanderer replied, scanning the nest below, then angled himself into a spiralling descent. Dreamer followed, also watching for the Rock-Scale fledglings.

They reached the bottom of the nest and glanced at each other in confusion. "We miss them?" Dreamer warbled uncertainly.

"Maybe…"

They flapped up through the turbulent air of the lower nest to the more stable updrafts and rode them back up, but there was still no sign, and they were partway down a third pass when Storm-Fly's summons pricked their ears.

Far from marvelling at how he could somehow pick her up from the general din of the nest, Dreamer was starting to get worried. "They flying outside nest?" he asked as they started ascending again.

Wanderer stared pensively down the nest, then shook himself in the air and turned up towards Storm-Fly. "Yes, probably. We find them tomorrow."

They alighted on their ledge and trotted to their spot, settling down to watch Storm-Fly with her fledglings. Yes, of course, there would be a perfectly rational explanation, they were probably just getting a drink or something before sleeping.

His thoughts went back to the boats they'd seen around the water pool island. Just a coincidence, surely…

Their unease grew steadily throughout the next day as they still couldn't find the fledglings, and they gave up the day after that; they'd already searched everywhere, it was clear they'd flown off somewhere. Whether into danger or not was impossible to tell.

* * *

Wanderer emerged from the top of the nest into a bright and clear sky, the sky-fire already well into its journey. The air carried warm, stuffy scents that hinted of long lights and dark angry clouds, signalling the end of the warming-season.

What he had initially intended to be only a sky-ice-cycle from the Long-Paws had now gone well past two, the ordeals with the bad thoughts and alpha distracting them from their wandering. He sighed as he finished his short loop out over the water and dropped back into the nest, swooping down to their ledge where Dreamer was just rousing.

"Hrrr, you fly already?" Dreamer asked him, then yawned widely.

"Some. I want talk."

He sat on his haunches and cleaned his face to help himself wake while Dreamer stretched and did the same, then, on a mischievous whim, swiped Dreamer's paw out from under him and fled from the resulting growling pursuit. His tail was inevitably pounced, and he rolled onto his back to fend off the teeth snapping in his face, yawning and feigning boredom.

Dreamer snorted at him and hunched back, and then Wanderer reflexively squeaked and thrashed as claws lightly scrabbled at his sensitive belly. He managed to kick Dreamer away and then rolled to his paws with a growl, the ensuing tussle ending with Dreamer pinned and Wanderer happily licking his head.

"Grrr, what you want talk about?" Dreamer grumbled from under him.

"What you – think about – warm-nest?" Wanderer asked him between licks.

"Grrr, stop that!" The Nightstriker squirmed – futilely – but Wanderer relented and settled with nibbling his wing-shoulders instead. "That not much better," Dreamer groaned with a purr, though he shifted his wing for easier access.

"Good," Wanderer chuffed, swapping to using his claws. "No clever words. Tell me what you think."

"Warm here, that nice," he purred. "I learn much about flying-nest-kin. It good we helped fledglings also."

That was still a sore spot for Wanderer, a pawful of pawfuls of lights later and they had not returned. If he'd just been faster at-

He grounded that thought, focusing on grooming. It was good to help nest-kin, but they weren't his responsibility, and it was just as possible that nothing bad had happened anyway. "That good, yes. But what think now?"

Dreamer's silence, while he tried to think of clever words that that would mean what he felt but say something else entirely, was answer enough. "Stupid," Wanderer grumbled, batting him on the head. "You not want stay here?"

"I want stay here," Dreamer sighed. "But…" He shifted his head to watch Storm-Fly and her fledglings, all thoroughly preening themselves.

"It not enough," Wanderer finished for him as he settled down next to him, and Dreamer hummed his assent, ears and frills drooping. "For me also… Hot-season starting, we here for much time now. How you feel about Long-Paw nest?"

Dreamer's frills twitched, as if agitated. "They do us bad. But they do us good also… I want go back."

"Next light," Wanderer crooned, nudging the side of his face. "We go next light."

* * *

_It's not possible…_

A Night Fury was the ultimate dragon, extremely fast both in the air and on the ground and with an incredible amount of strength and firepower. No dragon could compete with it in terms of versatility or intelligence. But, not only had Alvin failed to tame one, he hadn't even been able to contain them, and with two opportunities to do so. Even the Night Furies aside, his work with Nadders had resulted in two corpses, a fickle guard, and an axe that was as likely to strike its wielder as its target.

But, somehow, that lunatic… Alvin's hand trembled as he held the parchment, not even seeing the runes frantically scribbled across it. His long-awaited news from Berserk, of something he found was even more frightful than a Night Fury in this particular circumstance.

He forced himself to steady. Allowing the Berserkers to take over the Archipelago would be a disaster, he needed to somehow avert that sudden likelihood. Taking a deep breath, he put the note aside and began to plan, bringing together snippets of information from various reports and working long into the night to spin everything in his favour.

And any time he started to lose focus, he needed only a glance at the crumpled parchment, at how it culminated in one single word written in large, deliberate letters.

_SKRILL_


	31. Focal

Missing sheep located, a word of thanks, walking. An apology on behalf of the last person, a disgruntled huff, walking. Collecting inventories from across the village for everything from seeds to metals, all involving a _lot_ of walking.

By the end of the day – a long, balmy day with the sun burning bright throughout – Astrid was exhausted, and her clothes and hair were practically dripping with sweat. She probably looked a ragged mess as she forced her stride into the Great Hall, befitting any Viking after a day of solid labour, but she felt like she hadn't accomplished _anything._

And she hadn't, not compared to normal, and was twice as worn out to boot. _Gods,_ how did anyone get anything done without their own dragon? Walking everywhere was so _slow._ Just getting out to the farms and back had taken half the day; she had a new appreciation for why Stoick always left her the jobs out there.

She brushed the sweat from her face and wiped it on her shirt before approaching the food table, grabbing a plate and piling it with cold meats, raw vegetables, and a lump of bread, then picked out a vacant table and plopped down at it. The twins were cackling to themselves near the wall, which was nothing unusual; Astrid ignored them, and they ignored her in turn. Fishlegs was nowhere to be seen, as had been the case for most nights since… since his dragon had come back with five admittedly sort of cute younger Gronckles.

Well, at least there was no sign of-

"Hey, Astrid!" came an unwelcome voice, and Snotlout dropped down next to her moments later. "I'm digging the 'gone swimming' look, it really suits you," he said without a hint of sarcasm.

"Shut up Snotlout," she replied flatly, taking a slightly larger mouthful and just ready to be done with dinner already so she could leave.

"Offer still stands, you know, I've got a dragon, you've got places to be, it's-"

She grabbed the drumstick from his plate and roughly jammed it in his mouth, cutting him off, but he just took a bite and chewed slowly in a way he probably thought was seductive. "That was really hot," he said in a low voice with a stupid smile, his mouth still full.

"Ugh," Astrid grunted in disgust as she rose, tossing the remainder of a carrot in her mouth and grabbing the last lump of meat to stalk to the door.

"See you in the morning babe, I'll be-"

Whatever he was saying was cut off with a yelp and a crash, followed by uproarious laughter from the twins as they rushed over to gloat in his face. Astrid shook her head with a roll of her eyes, allowing a small, short-lived smile as she exited the hall.

She numbly went through the routine, bathing, braiding her hair, maintaining her axe, having a brief and awkward conversation with her father, then going to bed where she wondered why she felt so alone until sleep claimed her. Wake up, get dressed, jog to the Great Hall, get breakfast, find Stoick, start the day.

And of course, the day started with walking. Lots and lots of walking. At least it wasn't raining again.

She was returning to the village with a report from Hork on the current state of their wood supplies when a familiar screech snapped her to her senses and froze her mid-stride. She easily recognised it not only as a Nadder, but as a _specific_ Nadder…

But it wasn't Stormfly walking slowly from the treeline to her side. A feeling of brittle dread settled over her as a pair of Night Furies stalked towards her, watching her with fierce, studious eyes. They'd grown even more since last she'd seen them, she doubted she could even lift Hiccup now, and she was alone, halfway between the logging grounds and the village.

They circled around her, remaining eerily quiet and watching, unblinking, as she turned to keep track of them. What did they _want?_ "I'm s-"

A terse growl cut her off, followed by a loud snort. She'd already apologised anyway, but they hadn't forgiven her. Surely, they had to understand, she had no other choice! If she'd defied the order then the council would have just tried some other way, risking injury and death to all involved.

Or maybe they _couldn't_ understand; they weren't human, after all, however well they could hold a conversation. She offered a warm smile and held out a hand, but went still as Toothy took a menacing step toward her.

Only one step. The two Furies looked at each other, then slinked back into the treeline.

Astrid stared after them, vacantly entertaining the notion that she was tired and bored enough to have imagined the encounter, and was just about to follow after them when Stormfly stepped from the trees. Astrid immediately perked at the sight of her dragon, carefully holding up a hand. "Hey girl, long time no see," she said gently, taking slow steps forward.

As before, Stormfly walked up to her, nudged her hand, and pulled away. Astrid felt close to tears, Stormfly was the only dragon she ever wanted to fly with, but she just didn't seem to _understand._ What did she and the Furies _want?_

Stormfly chirped and ruffled her wings, and Astrid couldn't suppress a gasp as four small Nadders, heads just a little too big for their bodies, bolted from the trees and nearly bowled her over. They crowded around her and stuck their noses in her hair, face, back, anything they could get to, chirping and bouncing excitedly. Once she got through the jarring change in atmosphere, she laughed at the sheer curiosity and joy of the dragons around her, then made an embarrassingly shrill sound as one stuck its nose up the back of her skirt, catching it on its horn and lifting her from the ground.

A bark sounded out and she fell to the ground, then scrambled to her feet to find them standing obediently behind Stormfly. "You're… their mother," she said slowly as it dawned on her. "They're your babies! Oh Stormfly, they're beautiful, I…"

She found herself at a loss for words. Again she held her hand to her dragon, and sighed in relief as Stormfly leaned into it, and then into her. Astrid choked out a laugh and hugged her dragon's head, stroking her cheeks and snout, then peered around at her fledglings. She wanted to hug and scratch and play with them _so badly_ it almost hurt to hold herself back, but her view of them was suddenly blocked by a wing.

Stormfly hissed to all five of them in turn, then tucked away the wing and gently nudged Astrid forward. Well, with Stormfly hopefully giving her a lift back, she now had some time that would otherwise be spent walking…

* * *

Ignoring the spluttering protests, Dreamer laughed as he and Wanderer pinned Tuffnut to the ground to ferociously lick him, their whole bodies wagging enthusiastically. He hadn't wanted to admit it, but the warm-nest had been _boring,_ and he was now really looking forward to the chaotic twin arranging something for them to do. He also regretted leaving the way he did, without explanation or even a farewell. He also felt inclined to add his scent to that of the other fledglings that were on him, and had no reason to ignore whatever instinct it fulfilled.

Something assaulted Dreamer's shoulders with a pleasant scratching, and he leaned into it, purring loudly. Tuffnut took the opportunity to tackle Wanderer, somehow doing so from where he'd been lying on his back, and both Nightstrikers quickly became limp, rumbling puddles with the occasional kicking leg.

It was nice to know they'd been missed, even by Ruffnut, who cooed adoringly at them both as she reduced Dreamer to a pathetic lump of scales.

_"I'm gonna regret this but I don't care!"_ she announced, and Dreamer thrashed with a squeak as she tickled his belly. _"Yep, I have the regrets,"_ she groaned from her back, several feet away, _"but still don't care!"_

Dreamer flipped upright and padded over to her, briefly scented her, then slowly raised a paw and flexed his claws.

_"Oh no you don't!"_ She scampered backwards, moving impressively fast for someone lying on their back, then lunged at him and swung around onto his back. Dreamer stood still, not quite sure what to make of what she'd done.

_"Uh… That might not be a good idea sis…"_

_"Hah! Well I'd like to see him tickle me from…"_

She trailed off as Dreamer slowly turned his head to give her with the most evil smile he could muster, full of teeth and with partially narrowed eyes. _"Uh oh…"_

He hunched his wings forward to pin her legs to his sides. _You wanted to ride a Nightstriker… Request granted!_ He leaped forward, feeling her weight briefly shift as her arms flailed before she hit his back, then spun right and halted abruptly, swinging her around to slap against his neck and head. He then bucked, releasing her legs to send her flailing up into the air, where she had time for a brief shout of alarm during her descent back to the ground.

_"Ha! Beautifully executed!"_ Tuffnut crowed, puffing his chest out while Ruffnut groggily propped herself up. _"A healthy dose of pain but not too much, some respectable hang time, maybe a bit short but better than dragging it out. You have done well, my disciple!"_

Wanderer rolled his eyes with a huff, then used his tail to sweep Tuffnut's legs out from under him.

_"I bow to the true master!"_ he shouted into the grass.

The Nightstrikers had flown the whole way from the warm-nest in a single flight and immediately followed that with a long hunt in the forest before coming straight here, so Dreamer was weary and tired, but at the same time he felt he was going to explode with energy; he was bouncing on the spot, his paws leaving the ground. He tackled Wanderer, rolling over him to nip his tail, then sprinted circles around the nearest building with growling at his heels.

The growls tapered off and he quickly looked back, expecting Wanderer to have circled the other way, in time to see Wanderer pounce him. They tumbled out into the path where they playfully bit and batted each other, a growling tangle of limbs, just revelling in being… being…

_Home,_ Dreamer thought warmly, letting the feeling rise in his chest and overflow into his being. It was good to be home.

The twins' laughs abruptly died off, and Wanderer went still and tense a moment later. Dreamer removed his gums from Wanderer's ear in time to see Astrid descend on Stormfly, riding bareback and followed by four nervously excited Spine-Tail fledglings.

_"You don't deserve that,"_ Tuffnut said to her flatly, then caught the punch Ruffnut threw at him and used it to push her back.

_"Yeah well I don't need your approval,"_ Astrid shot back at him as she dismounted. _"Just Stormfly's. Speaking of which, you'll take her fledglings too, right?"_

_"Yeah, sure. Just go stand over there."_ He pointed to somewhere behind him.

_"…Why?"_ Astrid growled in _warning._

_"Because I can't do anything with them while you're in my line of sight."_

They glared at each other for a long moment, but then Astrid patted Stormfly's cheek and stalked past him. _"I need to get some things,"_ she gritted, glancing flatly at the Nightstrikers before walking stiffly to her house.

Dreamer sighed as she left, the weight of the long day catching up to him. He vaguely wondered what state their den was in. _Wrrr,_ it was a cave, so probably just a bit dusty at most. A deep, dark, cool, quiet cave…

Wanderer echoing his drowsy purr, they hopped into the air and glided down the village, letting the ground fall away below them and then riding the winds over the docks. There were several differences around the training ring now, Dreamer noted, many more caves carved into the mountain, one of which at ground level was barred by an iron-bound wooden door. _Hrrr,_ he'd need to investigate that later.

Later. Now, he drifted after Wanderer and tucked his wings to duck into their den – and nearly smacked his head on the entrance as he failed to account for his growth since winter. If Wanderer noticed, he didn't draw attention to it.

The day was warm and the stone cool, which Dreamer stretched out on with a hearty purr. Wanderer drifted off almost immediately, leaving Dreamer a few moments of solitude before he drifted off himself. In those moments, he revelled in something he had not experienced in a long time.

Tranquil, near total silence.

* * *

_"Welcome to dragon training!"_

Dreamer cocked his head with a wry smirk as Tuffnut dramatically threw open the heavy door to the one closed-off cave around the training ring, the freshly forged metal glinting in the warm light of dawn. _"What? We're training dragons, and the name was available. You know, after… well, yeah."_

_"I'm helping!"_ the young boy with him declared confidently.

_"Shut it Gustav. Anyway, what with all the smallish dragons we got now, someone needed to take care of them. And that someone is me. Tuffnut! I'm gonna train the Hel outta you dragons to be the best damn dragons you can be!"_

Purring in a confused amusement, Dreamer shared a look with Wanderer and then looked around, confirming no other dragons had snuck up on him, then tilted his head at Tuffnut.

_"You gotta call them first,"_ Gustav supplied helpfully. _"Ooh can I do it today?"_

_"Not on your_ life," Tuffnut growled, prodding Gustav in the chest,_ "you remember what happened-"_

But Gustav ignored him, spinning and cupping his hands over his mouth to shout _"Kallay, kallay!"_

There was a rush of activity, the little caves dotted in the rock suddenly emitting Spine-Tail and Rock-Scale fledglings in a flurry of wings that all converged on Tuffnut, who disappeared under them with a squawk.

_"Or was it 'kallah kallah',"_ Gustav mused, stroking his chin and apparently totally oblivious to the scene behind him.

Dreamer chuckled incredulously; some things never changed. Wanderer loudly barked _authority, summons,_ grabbing the fledglings' attention and revealing a still-standing but significantly more dishevelled Tuffnut. The teen rocked on his feet, then advanced murderously on Gustav.

_"Man, I'm starving, I'm gonna go grab a bite,"_ the kid announced jovially, then jogged off towards the path and disappeared from sight.

_"I swear to Thor, I'm gonna mace him so hard his _grandkids_ are gonna see double,"_ Tuffnut growled, wringing an imaginary neck.

Dreamer chuckled again, then padded forward to wind around Tuffnut with a loud purr. As he did so, he furtively gazed past the door, trying to peer through the relative darkness inside.

_"Hey, I'm onto you,"_ Tuffnut chided warmly, waving a finger in front of his nose and shooing him away. _"This cave's off-limits, no going in. Yes, even you. No, acting all cute and adorable won't work."_ Dreamer switched to crestfallen, letting his eyes and frills droop sadly. _"Aw dear, is da widdle dwagon sad? Well I've got just the thing for that!"_

That had Dreamer perking curiously as Tuffnut ducked into the cave. What could he-

A round thing rolled out of the darkness, and no sooner than it had rolled to a stop it was whisked away by a Spine-Tail, a whole clutch stampeding after it. Wanderer at least was ready for the second one, bounding up to it and glaring at the remaining fledglings as if daring them to approach. He then avidly sniffed it up and down, gradually walking around it for new angles.

Dreamer was with him a moment later, an odd noise rumbling in the back of his throat that he vacantly attributed to curiosity. The object was somewhat wider than his head and roughly spherical, what looked to be scraps of thick leather sewn together but with next to none of the scent of the pungent treatment it was given. Instead it smelled of dirt, grass, and fledglings, with odd irregular whiffs of Viking.

Wanderer shoved his curious nose under the ball, then went absolutely still to watch it intently as it rolled about two feet and wobbled to a halt.

The Nightstrikers glanced at each other.

But Dreamer was faster! He pounced the ball, attempting to grab it in his teeth but only succeeding in knocking it forward. Wanderer leaped over him and tried to grapple it, but ended up rolling forward on it with a surprised yelp. The ball slipped out from under his side while he scrambled to find his footing, and Dreamer pounced it more carefully to securely grapple it.

However, he discovered it was just a _little_ too big to sink his teeth into to actually pick it up, and that moment was all Wanderer needed to catch up and discover the same thing in trying to take it himself. They grappled it from opposite sides, growling playfully and hasting to be the first to find a grip on it.

The winner of that race was Dreamer, enabling him to wrench the toy from Wanderer and bolt with it – only to discover that it prevented his paws from reaching forward to run, unless he held it high enough he couldn't see where he was going. It was only moments before a heavy weight dropped onto his back, and the ball was sent rolling away; he barely noticed the tip of a tooth snapping off, that was just a thing that happened sometimes.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Dreamer lay on his back with his chest heaving while Wanderer triumphantly chewed and licked the ball. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun, and stretched his legs into the air with a happy purr.

_"So, what'd you think? Pretty neat huh?"_

"Too big for bite," Dreamer grumbled mildly. "Need smaller play-thing." They could really make a game out of it if he could actually run with it, or reliably pick it up at all.

_"That's the point, dummy,"_ Tuffnut said with an amused roll of his eyes. _"Otherwise someone'd just run off with it and it'd be boring."_

_…Rrmm,_ that actually made a weird sort of sense. _What else is he hiding in there I wonder…_ Dreamer rolled to his paws and trotted towards the strange cave, though the door was shut again. Not that a closed door was much of an obstacle.

Tuffnut, on the other paw, swatted his sub-wing as he passed, causing Dreamer to jump and spin with an affronted hiss. _"Nope, I mean it,"_ Tuffnut said levelly,_ "no dragons in my cave of fun stuff."_

Cute hadn't worked… Had never worked on Tuffnut, really. _I'll fight you for it!_ Dreamer growled playfully, rearing to swat at Tuffnut-

The teen stepped inside the strike and instantly found the sensitive spot behind Dreamer's jaw, who found himself blinking groggily on his side a moment later.

Actually, that was a problem, Dreamer realised with a growl at himself. He knew how to fight and defend himself against dragons, but he was unfamiliar with Long-Paws and their ability to drop him with a firm touch; a frustrating weakness, to say the least. And if he'd learned _anything_ in the last few years, it was that Long-Paws were by far the greatest danger to Nightstrikers.

_"Ha! Tuffnut, master of Night Furies! But seriously, stay outta my stuff."_

"You alpha my tail," Dreamer grumbled light-heartedly as he got back to his paws.

_"Alpha of your butt _and_ the rest of you, mister. Officially, even, whatever that means. Eh, who cares."_

Dreamer paused mid-step, suddenly realising what they were doing. Tuffnut had learned Dragonese? And had apparently been appointed in some official capacity.

_Tuffnut had a job._

_"Hey, no laughing at your alpha!"_

* * *

Berk had lost much of the Nightstrikers' trust, and Dreamer surprised himself with his own reticence to enter any structures lest they be trapped inside a third time. They managed going into the Great Hall, if it wasn't too crowded and the weather was miserable enough, but much preferred to hunt meals themselves or get fish straight from the dock.

A few weeks into their return, Dreamer realised Tuffnut was subtly nudging them back into that trust. The balls they played with were stuffed with old clothes and released strong Viking scents when played with, random people would throw them fish when the teen was around, and he regularly helped fill the gaps in their knowledge of Viking language and culture; that last one was really only applicable to Wanderer, but Dreamer played along. And that was just what he'd noticed, the self-proclaimed disciple of Loki was tricky when he put his mind to something.

Not that Dreamer particularly minded, they weren't being pushed into doing anything they didn't want to do or that didn't feel safe. Wanderer had voiced much the same thoughts on the matter, as Tuffnut had never shown anything other than total support for their wellbeing; he didn't even share Ruffnut's and Snotlout's mild grudges for taking their dragons.

But there was a thorn in Dreamer's side, one that stilled his flight every time he bumped against it. He did his best to pretend Astrid didn't exist, but he had to acknowledge that she was influential, particularly when involving dragons, and would likely one day be leading the village.

Not only had she trapped and traded them against their will, but she now seemed to think less of them for it. He was just an animal in her mind, livestock, a cute pet. Maybe it was her way of feeling better about what she'd done, or maybe she truly just didn't get it. Either way, it felt like a rock in his stomach every time she beckoned to him or offered him fish or particularly sweet-grass. Fishlegs had asked them about it, but they refused him an answer; there was no point if she didn't work it out for herself.

On the other paw, she didn't seem to be getting it on her own, and their frustration with each other only grew deeper.

But on this day, Dreamer was not thinking of Astrid. He pumped the heavy air with powerful wing-strokes, delighting in the warm wind rushing over his face while keeping an eye on the speck in the sky above. It reached the apex of its trajectory and gradually fell back to Midgard, but not before he-

It clipped his nose as it whizzed past him, hurtling down to the ocean below. He huffed in annoyance and folded his wings to drop down after it, watching for where it struck the choppy waves. The tightly bound lump of leather bobbed to the surface after only a few moments, and Dreamer swung around to snatch it from the water. While he laboured back up to the bridge, he watched Wanderer race out after his own ball.

He alighted on the thick railing, digging his claws into the damp wood and dropping the soggy fist-sized ball at the feet of the teen, eagerly waiting for it to be thrown again. The boy was maybe fourteen or fifteen and somewhat tall and lanky, but the similarities to Dreamer's last memories as a human ended there.

Dreamer watched him grab the ball from the wooden boards, remained still as he pretended to throw it, then pushed off from the rail as it was again thrown high into the sky, out over the channel between the island and the village. Personally, Dreamer felt it was somewhat demeaning, but the boy didn't seem to mind standing there to throw a ball sheerly for the entertainment of a young Nightstriker. _Maybe some sort of spring-loaded system…_

This time he successfully snatched the ball from the sky and roared in triumph around it, then turned in a lazy circle back and skimmed the rock cliff at the back of the village on the way back up to the bridge. Again he alighted on the rail and dropped the toy, waiting impatiently for-

He nearly fell backwards off the rail as he realised that the toned muscles and flash of blonde hair were _not_ those of the kid he'd been playing with.

Slight amusement flickered across Astrid's face, but also _pain_ and _annoyance_. She watched him curiously as she crouched to pick up the ball, then stood and threw it firmly into the sky behind Dreamer. He just stared at her impassively, letting the ball disappear to the wind and sea behind him.

She lost it. _"I don't get what you _want_ from me!"_ she exclaimed, throwing her arms out, but then visibly restrained herself and calmed. "Please tell me, you want what?" she asked suddenly, her expression _pleading, sad_.

Dreamer tilted his head, frills flaring of their own accord. It was unusual for anyone to talk to them in Dragonese anymore, even Tuffnut used Norse other than to teach the other fledglings how to talk properly. She was trying…

"We trusted you," he said tersely. "Not trust now."

_"But-"_

"That not matter," he cut her off with a growl. "You did us bad." He took a deep breath, trying to work out what, if anything, he wanted to say. "You trust me?" he eventually asked, subtly hooking his tail under the thick railing.

_"I-"_

Dreamer lunged forwards, claws outstretched, but halted at an impossible angle by standing off from the rail while still hanging onto it with his tail. He never got near her, she jumped backwards ready to fend him off and with a hand to her axe, though she at least didn't draw it.

He snorted at her, then awkwardly backed up onto the rail, having received the answer to his question. And if she did not trust him, how could he trust her?

This was so frustrating. Astrid stood for the future of Berk, she _needed_ to get this, but if he just told her to put her life in his claws she would only force herself to do it, and when he then did nothing to her – he'd never had any intention of retribution – it would only reinforce the rotten thoughts she harboured. She needed to willingly accept that he might harm or kill her for her actions, so that when they spared her she would understand they were giving her their mercy and forgiveness, _not_ acceptance of her actions.

If only she could get past that stupid warrior's instinct to swing her axe when someone got angry with her. Something needed to be done, but Dreamer just couldn't work it out and was more or less left with waiting for some miracle opportunity to present itself.

He let out a tense sigh and trotted along the rail towards where Wanderer was watching, whose expression was as bitter and frustrated as Dreamer felt. "You tell her, she still not understand," he grumbled.

Dreamer just growled under his breath. "I need do thing, not think. Race?"

Wings flared dramatically by way of response, and they sped off over the jagged wilderness of Berk's forests.

* * *

As was frequent of summer, the morning sky was thick with dark clouds that emptied sheets of rain over the land and sea in irregular waves. The Nightstrikers were waiting for a lull in the storm to vacate their den, resigned to another day of mostly loitering in the support braces of the Great Hall.

A flash of light out over the water grabbed Dreamer's attention, the instant peal of thunder echoing off the sky and up the mountain. The lightning cut a pale scar down the side of his vision, but it moved with his sight as he turned to the source. Had there been something falling into the water just now? _Hrrr,_ there was definitely something _on_ the water, a boat probably; hopefully it hadn't been what was struck. It was hard to see through the rain.

He began to feel nervous, a sense of foreboding deep in his gut. "If we want go, we need go now," he said to his friend; this seemed as light as the rain was going to get in the foreseeable future anyway.

"Yes," Wanderer agreed glumly, then grimaced as they leapt out into the wet.

The water was only a mild irritant, but it was persistent and dreary. Even in this lull it drummed on his ears and eyes, and ran back to trickle into his nostrils and mouth. There wasn't any point even shaking his head to try to clear it, the persistent drizzle constantly streamed down his face and off his body. It wasn't all that cold, just unpleasant.

As they neared the village, the sense of dread grew deeper. Something was going on, there were dragons in the air, out in this miserable weather, but none of the teens', and there were little congregations gathering on cliffs. They all faced towards the boat.

The rain redoubled for a moment, and he reflexively flattened his ears more tightly to his neck as he glanced beside him. Wanderer's attention was not on the village, instead he warily watched where the lightning had struck.

That was a point, Thor had never shown displeasure at Dreamer bearing his namesake before but there was no reason to tempt a strike of his hammer. He dropped down lower as the water below gave way to the dark landmass of the village-

And then he went completely stiff as a furious screech tore through the air, a sound unlike anything from any dragon he had ever heard before. It sounded almost metallic, like dragging a heavy axe over the anvil; his scales felt as if they were standing on end.

It had come from the direction of the boat. He followed Wanderer down to the roof of the forge, of which they stood at the edge to peer through the rain, each holding up a wing to shield their faces.

"I not know that floating-tree-thing," Dreamer called over the rain striking the wooden roof, though they were right next to each other. He could only see the outline of the boat, but it was larger and wider than anything Berk possessed and stood much higher in the water.

"Rock-Scales there?" Wanderer called back. Dreamer scanned the sky and indeed there seemed to be three smaller figures in the air, flying towards Berk. Had they come from the boat?

A shadow dropped from the clouds, hurtling towards the Rock-Scales, and did not slow down. It slammed into the furthest, tearing it from the sky and leaving it to plummet to the sea below. Dreamer could only stare rigidly as the shadow pulled back up, catching the second which then also fell towards the water, then flew after the third, the fastest of the three.

The tempestuous rain let up a little as they neared, and Dreamer clearly recognised the round bulk of a Rock-Scale, but the shadow following it was foreign. It looked like something halfway between a Nadder and a Nightmare, from what he could make of its shape.

A _hunting, triumphant_ screech rang through the air as the two silhouettes merged, though this time there was enough detail to make out it tearing into the hapless Gronckle. Questions and fear streaked incoherently through Dreamer's mind, keeping him anchored in place.

"Dreamer," Wanderer breathed quietly as the rain hammered down harder than ever, briefly obscuring the sight completely.

But Dreamer didn't hear the rain anymore. He stole a glance up the sloped roof at his best-friend, took in how his stunned silence was giving way to grim determination, his body settling into a fight-ready posture.

_When I say fight, that mean we need fight._

Water dripped from Dreamer's teeth as they bared at the shadow, once again visible as the heavy sheet of rain passed over – it was flying _directly towards them._ There was no question about that. It had just killed three Gronckles, and seemed to have its eyes on them, somehow knowing they were there. He was suddenly very glad he was at least passable in aerial combat, having been practising hard for months now.

A heartbeat passed while he waited for Wanderer to give the order, to fight, to _kill,_ to protect his-

_"Flee,"_ Wanderer hissed, then launched himself toward the threat.

Dreamer completely locked up as he watched Wanderer speed away, a single thought in his otherwise totally blank mind; _there was only one reason Wanderer would want to fight without him._

He coiled, ready to leap after his stupid friend, but hesitated; Wanderer had suddenly swerved to the side, and there was a weird oily feeling in the air-

Blinding light filled his sight in that moment of hesitation.

_KA-_

* * *

_-THOOOM_

Wanderer's flight faltered as the sound slammed into his ears, though they were pressed tightly to his neck. He'd blinked as the light lanced past him, pushing through a feeling of utter dread like a rock in his belly in knowing what had been behind him only moments before.

He recovered and shook the ringing from his head, then growled furiously at the Storm-Wing. He didn't turn back to check his Dreamer was safe, he couldn't change that outcome by doing anything other than taking this thing's attention long enough for Dreamer to escape. Its ability to hurl lightning from its mouth – less destructive and with a shorter range than Nightstriker fire but even faster and more lethal – would be his death if he just turned and tried to flee now anyway.

His wings beat the sodden air to pull him forward, then threw him out of the way as the Storm-Wing lunged at him. In that moment he saw there was something strange about its shape…

And then he panicked a little as he lost sight of it. He flicked his sub-wings to shake the water off but they immediately became soaked again, refusing to make the shrill sound that would allow him to see. _Grrr, I need my fire… Ground this small body!_

There was only one place that wasn't wet, and he angled up towards it. Heavy winds buffeted him, but he at least was big enough now to ride through them to break into the cover of the clouds above. They totally obscured his sight, but he pushed through them, higher and higher towards the clear skies above.

That feeling returned again, some sense in his scales tingling in warning, and he desperately threw himself downward again. The cloud lit up around him and another deafening crack of thunder proved his wariness warranted. _Not possible!_ The Storm-Wing could see through this dense cloud!?

That had to be the case though, it had seen them long before he had flown out to meet it. He bared his teeth as he dodged another strike of lightning. The sounds splitting his ears apart made it difficult to think properly, but he was growing accustomed enough that it didn't knock him out of the air.

The wind tugged at his sub-wings, now he was falling with the rain instead of against it, and he flicked them out to be rewarded by tenuous sight in every direction. For an instant all it showed was murk, but then a shape became evident that was not quite what he was expecting – there was a tall protrusion from the Storm-Wing's back.

It didn't seem like some deformity, but it might explain why Wanderer wasn't dead yet. Even still, it was only a matter of time before the lightning hit him, he needed to give it something else to strike.

Wanderer let himself hurtle right down out of the cloud and to the water, pulling up just above it and weaving around the wall waves; he dismissed the idea of diving in except as a last resort, it was far too wild and turbulent for a young Nightstriker to swim any distance in and would make him easy prey wherever he surfaced.

Another screech sounded above him, punctuated with sharp crackling and buzzing, and then lightning rained down around him.

* * *

Astrid turned to lean over the railing of the bridge and gaped as the Skrill lit up just under the clouds, suddenly starkly visible even through the pouring rain. Lightning arced to it from the sky with a distant crackling, and then there was a moment of silence and darkness before it directed all the power of Thor directly down at the sea, as if trying to beat the waves flat with Mjolnir itself. The flashes of light and initial cracks of sound were barely given enough time to clear before the next bolt struck down, the rumbling echoes layering and merging into a frightful tempo.

She at least knew a little of Skrill, that they absorbed lightning from the storm and could direct it at will and therefore had practically no shot limit. They never attacked during a raid though, only on their own, so the strategy for the rare attacks was to shoot at it with catapults and ballistae until it decided to give up, it got what it wanted, or someone got a lucky shot.

But they had dragons now. Astrid tried whistling for Stormfly again and resumed running for the training ring.

The fight that the Skrill was apparently engaged in drifted closer, and her heart caught as she recognised the shape it was fighting against as it sped up from near the water and into the sky. Of _course_ it was them, those Night Furies couldn't stay out of anything.

But they were still young, and didn't even have fire yet, and that was an Odin-cursed _Skrill!_

She slowed to a jog to whistle through her fingers again, but the rain was heavy and she was still far from Stormfly's stable. No dragon flew to meet her as she resumed running. Whatever she had to do, she was going to get Stormfly moved into the village after all this.

The Night Fury whipped past the Skrill, the shapes difficult to make out in the distance. The Skrill at least wasn't firing its lightning anymore. She lost track of the Fury, but then lightning lit up the sky again and converged on the Skrill. Her heart plummeted as the other shadow, now flying at the Skrill, intercepted one of the bolts and hurtled down to disappear into the sea in the time it took for the light to fade.

A grating roar echoed over Berk as Astrid redoubled her pace, gritting her teeth and trying not to think about what had just happened.

For a time there was no sound other than her breath spluttering through the water on her face, her pulse in her ears, her boots against the wet ground, and the constant hiss of the rain. She'd made about half the distance between the bridge and the ring when the lightning strikes started again, this time directly over Berk.

She whistled again, and _finally_ Stormfly swooped down to her, though of course there was no saddle as it was still early morning and Astrid had not had a chance to fit it. Should she chance going in without it, or spend the extra time?

They wouldn't offer much of a fight if Astrid wasn't strapped in. She directed Stormfly to the ring, landing directly in front of the storage room and hastily grabbing and fitting the saddle.

Eight lightning strikes in the time it took her to get airborne again, a brief period of tense silence while she yanked on straps, and then another crackling recharge. That was what safety had cost Berk. Hopefully it was worth it.

They flew directly for the Skrill, Stormfly never wavering. This was what they had been endlessly training for, neither of them was going to flinch now. Its attention was down on the village as it rained lightning down on it, so she was sure to approach it from slightly above, drawing near to-

"Oooh, is that Astrid up there!?" A sickeningly cheerful voice called out. "One of these Nadders has gotta be you, and third time's the charm, right? Yeah I'm betting it's you, to be approaching from a blind spot. Still thinking like a true warrior! Hey, watch this!"

Another flash of lightning split the sky, momentarily lighting up the carnage below and silhouetting the Skrill… and the person standing on its back.

"HAHAHA isn't it beautiful!?"

"Are you _crazy!?"_ Astrid shouted incredulously, nudging Stormfly around.

"Maybe!" Dagur shouted back as he pulled the Skrill away from the spines that whizzed through the air towards him. "Ooh that was good! My turn!"

Adrenaline gripped Astrid and she yanked on the saddle a bit harder than was probably necessary, Stormfly obligingly moving with haste before a blinding and deafening bolt of lightning lanced past her and off into the distance. A few shakes of the saddle had Stormfly recovering from their subsequent fall – the sound!

_But only two more…_ They laboured up to swoop in and flame the Skrill, which roared so loudly Astrid had to cover one ear, and then another bolt of lightning went wide as it was fired in rage; at least she'd had the foresight to cover Stormfly's ears this time, as much as her own ears rang in protest. _One more…_ She'd also got a glimpse of the rider, standing on its back with one of its spines in one hand and reins in the other, metal armour reflecting the light of the flame. _Odd…_

"Oooh, you're good!" Dagur called out. "Try this one!"

The Skrill screeched, pulling up in front of them in a hover, and then its wings started sparking. "I've got a bad feeling about this, girl!" Astrid shouted to her dragon, urging her away. No sooner had she finished talking, the Skrill flapped its glowing wings and what could only be described as a _solid wall of lightning_ exploded from it. Astrid's hair sparked and her skin burned as it caught them right at the end of its range, just before it dissipated, and Stormfly roared in pain.

"C'mon Stormfly! Pull through it!" They stumbled in the air, but Stormfly recovered and reluctantly pulled back to the Skrill at Astrid's insistent tugging. It was completely out of shots now, and if there was a delay like before-

But she was proven dreadfully wrong. Almost immediately, the clouds above lit up and crackling light lanced into the Skrill, an errant bolt striking Astrid in the arm. Stormfly immediately pulled to the side as Astrid lost her grip on the saddle, and the Skrill lined up its shot.

Astrid stared death in the face, ready to accept her place in Valhalla.

A shadow hissed past, and the Skrill thrashed and screeched even louder than before, tossing its head back and literally filling the sky with lightning. It splintered and fractured above, splitting into countless forks and lighting everything from the sky to the mountain to the ground.

In that light, Astrid saw the rents in its wing, two long gashes in the silhouette.

She whooped as it spiralled down to the ground, Dagur shouting at it, but partway down it screeched and its mad flight suddenly became more focused and driven.

A piteous squawk from Stormfly put the thought from her mind. They were no longer in any condition to fight, and the enemy had been taken to the ground where more traditional dragon-fighting methods would prevail. She set down near the Chief's hut, then called out in alarm as Stormfly collapsed onto her front.

Astrid climbed off, right arm still hanging limply, and her dragon then craned around to lick at her flank. There seemed to be nothing visible there, not that it was easy to see in the dim light, but Astrid noticed that further down her tail was gradually more scorched and blackened, some of the spines even blistered and bubbled. Hopefully that didn't cause any permanent damage.

Stormfly surprised her by shaking off the damaged spines, even craning around to wrench one out with her teeth. She had never seen the end of her Nadder's tail look so bare, but at least they would be able to apply a salve or something now. Once she was sure everything was safe.

She was halfway through taking the saddle off when Night Fury roars grabbed her attention, Stormfly perking up worriedly as well, and then a dark shape sprinted up the steps to the Great Hall. The doors were closed, Astrid knew, but it didn't hang around, sprinting back down the steps and off across the bridge. It was now only moments ahead of a fuming mad Skrill that ran after it, moving very quickly on just two legs.

Astrid cursed as Stormfly pulled forward to chase, pulling the Nadder back by the half-removed saddle; it would only tangle her if she tried to run or fly now. Well, it would be faster to take it off, and the Skrill wasn't flying any time soon. She wrenched more hastily at the buckles with her one good hand.

* * *

Dreamer groaned, wishing the world would stop spinning, and the rain would stop drumming into his cold belly, and his wing would stop hurting-

That suddenly got his attention. His wing was underneath him, so he hastily rolled to his paws on the sodden ground and hissed in pain as the movement tugged it. He gingerly held it up and inspected it, finding it still the right shape and apparently unbroken, but an experimental flap had him cry out in blinding pain.

He carefully tucked it away and surveyed his surroundings. _So I can't fly. Great. Next question, why was I laying on my wing?_

He was standing next to the forge, though it was looking much messier than usual. Upon further inspection, he noticed one of the workbenches was split in half and the anvil was on the ground, the wooden block it had been sat on apparently having exploded.

The memory of the lightning bolt surfaced. _A Skrill!_ He was lucky that bolt hadn't struck him, Skrill were known for _almost_ never missing. Sometimes their lightning went awry for no reason anyone had been able – or cared – to work out.

Panic seized him and he ran back out into the rain, frantically looking around for-

A _furious, hurt_ screech came from above, closely followed by a crack of thunder. It was a bit hard to tell with how the lights danced over his eyes even after they'd come and gone, but it was fighting something in the air that didn't seem to be a Nightstriker.

With a worried whine, he backed just far enough into the forge that he could watch, just as light exploded from the Skrill. It illuminated everything starkly enough that the braided blonde hair was visible on the Nadder's back; first Wanderer, now Astrid and Storm-Fly…

He yelped in concern as Storm-Fly roared in pain and dropped in the air as she was caught by the edge of the blast, but she recovered quickly and swung back around. Dreamer stared up in horror as the sky lit up with lightning that converged on the Skrill, Stormfly faltering and aborting the attack even after it had died down.

And then fierce relief pulled Dreamer to the ground as a Nightstriker silhouette whipped past, and the following screech was so full of _fury, pain,_ and with a bit of _finality_ that he knew it was grounded. _Grounded wing-hunter is easy prey._ Both Gobber and Wanderer had said things along the same lines.

"Dreamer!"

Dreamer barked in response and rushed out to meet Wanderer as he swooped down, and they nuzzled each other with relieved whimpers. "You-"

A frightful screech above got both their attention to find the Skrill bearing down on them, clearly fighting its ruined wing. _Oh come on…!_

Wanderer leapt in the other direction and into the air, but Dreamer only got as far as twitching his wing before the pain crippled him; flying on it might actually ground him permanently. Instead, he sprinted up the village, ignoring a questioning call from Wanderer in favour of running for his life.

A group of warriors rushed in the other direction, some twitching in response at him running for them but continuing on as he ran past them. _Oh good, they can-_

The sound and sudden luminosity of Dreamer's surroundings told of the Skrill using the lightning wall again.

_Never mind._

He ran at full speed all the way up to the Great Hall, taking the wet steps six at a time and scrabbling to a halt in front of the heavy doors. The _closed_ heavy doors.

Spinning around, a glance down at the village revealed a big dark shadow in pursuit, not quite as fast as him but much faster than one would expect of a two-legged dragon, running low to the ground with its wings hunched above it. Wanderer was trying to get its attention with roars of _challenge, hunting,_ but it was ignoring him. For the first time, Dreamer also saw the figure standing on its back.

Even more cold dread poured through him as he realised there was only one person crazy enough to ride a Skrill. _No no NO! Not again!_

His legs worked automatically, throwing him down the stairs and then onto the bridge to the main island. To the forest.

Despite the dread heavy in his gut and the burning fatigue starting to build in his chest, he was strangely calm about it. Dagur had hunted him endlessly through a forest what felt like an eternity ago, but that was different. These forests were Dreamer's territory, and he was not the terrified little fledgling he had been back then.

He stopped at the treeline to wait for Wanderer and catch his breath, turning back to the Skrill which he'd managed to put a little distance to. His friend was still above it, still trying to get its attention; whether he hadn't noticed Dreamer waiting for him or just didn't care was unclear, but it was probably the latter.

That odd feeling returned, a slick sensation that felt like the air was sliding off him, and a moment later the base of the tree he had just been standing in front of simply _exploded._ Splinters and chunks of wood bounced painfully off Dreamer's back and flanks as he fled into the forest.

* * *

_Now, of all times…! RUN you stupid Nightstriker!_

Wanderer didn't know why Dreamer wasn't flying other than that something must be stopping him, and that meant he again needed to get this Storm-Wing's attention. Once Dreamer was safely out of harm's way, Wanderer could simply fly away.

But it just wasn't interested in him! Maybe it knew. Maybe the Long-Paw with a heavy paw planted on its neck knew. Either way, a bolt of lightning lanced out towards the trees, freezing Wanderer's heart in his chest for a moment.

A large tree at the forest's edge dropped a wing's span and slowly keeled over, the crash of it hitting the ground clearly audible over the pouring rain. The Storm-Wing barely slowed down, sprinting into the trees and disappearing into the darkness.

Wanderer swooped down and paced the treeline anxiously, trying to work out what he should do. Follow it in? That would be very dangerous, and Dreamer was fast in these trees.

He groaned and stretched the wing that had been struck earlier, still stiff and incredibly painful but not really injured; he would likely not be flying for many lights after this though.

Without warning, Storm-Fly dropped down to the treeline nearby and promptly collapsed onto the ground with a squawk of pain, and the traitorous fledgling-alpha leapt from her back and ran into the trees.

_Grrr,_ she could get herself killed for all Wanderer cared right now. He was more worried about Storm-Fly, who had craned around to lick her flank, and bounded over to her. A quick inspection had him grimacing, the lower half of her tail was devoid of spines and looked blistered and raw, the wounds seeming to extend up to her flanks. She wasn't running anywhere in her condition.

He started licking at her flank to help soothe the wound, but doubts ate away at him. Had Dreamer escaped? _Could_ he even escape with whatever injuries he had sustained, and after running so fast so far through the nest already? And what of the fledgling-alpha?

With a resigned groan, he left Storm-Fly and bounded into the familiar trees to hunt a Storm-Wing in a storm.

* * *

"Did anyone see where it went!?" Stoick roared over the deluge, glancing around at the damage. "Get a fire team in there!" he shouted, spotting a three-story house with too much light shining out of a big hole at the front of its roof.

"Chief!" someone called out as they ran up to him, Stoick quickly recognising him. "Think they went o'er the bridge, there was a strike o' there no too long ago!"

Stoick held a hand up and they listened to the patter of the rain. No chaos or carnage, just white noise. "Right, get our best warriors guarding the bridge." He didn't need to tell them to spread out. "Where is Spitelout!?" he roared into the rain.

"Here, Chief," the stalwart man replied, running up to him. "We did wha' we could, bu' most o' them're in Valhalla now. Two survivors, bu' one ain' makin' much sense. The dragons did no make it either."

"Aye." Stoick clapped him on the shoulder.

"There's more, Chief," Spitelout said, a chilling note to his voice. "So far's anyone can tell… there's… someone _ridin'_ it…"

Stoick took a deep breath, his eyes widening. He _knew_ there was something different, it was far from the two or three random attacks he'd seen in the past but he'd just attributed it to having dragons this time. His eyes went to something lodged in the ground, a thick wooden board from the nearby building embedded in the tough dirt as if it were a spear and not a random piece of debris.

"We hold until the storm breaks," he announced to the gathering crowd. "Then we go hunting!" He surveyed the warriors as they roared enthusiastically. "And where in Odin's name is Astrid!?"

* * *

_"Heeere little Night Fury, come to Dagur!"_

_Oh sure, we can catch up over breakfast,_ Dreamer thought sarcastically as he watched through the trees and tried to catch his breath, rivulets of water running from his face and over his paws. The Skrill prowled through the forest, tugging on the reins Dagur had on it but forcibly held to its course.

And now that Dreamer was getting a good look, he had to wonder why Dagur was wearing armour. Metal armour, at that. It had to be heavy, even were it thin enough to crumple and crack at the slightest pressure, and was most unlike a Berserker. He was wearing his usual helmet though.

Dreamer silently repositioned to keep track of the dragon, going still as the tugging intensified, though they continued on their course.

_"Just show yourself, then you can run! Run for all you're worth! AHAHAHAAAH! Give me a good hunt, and I'll give you a good death!"_

_So, not breakfast then?_ Dreamer's legs went a little weak with every mad giggle and taunt, but he remained resolute. As long as he was the one tracking the Skrill, they could not sneak up and surprise him, and they could not hide away on the island to strike later.

He blinked as he routinely took stock of his surroundings. Hadn't he been on the other side of this bush a moment ago?

The Skrill let out a horrible grating hiss as it prowled along, still tugging on the reins, then whimpered submissively at a forceful nudge from Dagur's boot planted firmly on its neck. He seemed to have it quite under control, though it was still trying to do its own thing.

Where were they going? They seemed to be wandering aimlessly in circles.

No… in _a_ circle…

A circle that Dreamer happened to be in the middle of.

They knew he was there. It wasn't possible, nobody could see a Nightstriker in such a poorly-lit forest, but there was no other explanation.

This was suddenly too dangerous, he needed to flee as far as he could. He was quite a way into the forest, there were several good paths away. He backed up, then silently loped away.

And then changed course and sprinted for all he was worth as lightning arced between the trees, branching off and sending splinters whizzing through the air. He had to slow, stumbling regardless as the sound knocked him senseless for a moment, but thankfully he'd pressed his ears down as a precaution and wasn't knocked unconscious again.

The Skrill really was the ultimate dragon-hunting tool, it was no wonder the Berserkers idolised it.

The trees opened out, Dreamer realising a moment too late he'd played right into their plan. This was near the edge of the forest again, where the undergrowth wasn't as dense and the Skrill would be less impeded with its larger bulk, where Dreamer wouldn't have as far to run, and where to one side was a vertical mountain he could probably scale but not with an injured wing and lightning bolts being hurled at him.

He had run from everything for most of his life, and it had never got him anywhere. The few things he had been forced into fighting for were what got him _everything_ he had today. He hissed at himself and skidded to a stop, spinning to face his pursuers, a roar of _challenge, defiance,_ thundering from his maw of its own accord. The Skrill slowed to a halt and roared back at him.

An insane laugh gradually rose over the rain. _"Yes! Oh this is everything I have DREAMED of!"_ More laughter shook his body, and the Skrill hissed dangerously, flexing its wings to rake the long talons on the wrists through the air. _"Give me a fight worthy of SONG, Night Fury!"_

The Skrill lunged forward, and Dreamer raced aside from the snap of teeth and then a slash of its talon, which was long enough to go right through him with length to spare. The fear, the panic, the tension, it all threatened to lock him in place, but he held a tenuous control over himself on the basis that if he surrendered _he would die._ His light and nimble form dodged the clumsy bulk of the Skrill with ease as he ran circles around it, keeping it turning and off-balance while he learned its attacks.

As it slashed with its wing, he ducked under it and pushed off its side while digging claws through its hide. When it snapped at him he slammed his weight into the stiff spines on its crown, wrenching its neck. When it lunged at him he darted under it and sunk his teeth into its tail, tearing away scales.

It roared at him and held its wings aloft, totally exposing itself, but Dreamer's momentary hesitation gave him time to run in the opposite direction as it started sparking. He bounded through the trees, then turned and raced back as the crackling behind him stuttered to silence.

_One shot left…_ If he could bait out one more shot, it would be out, and he doubted it could recharge from the storm through the trees.

He slid to a halt in the wet undergrowth and hissed at the Skrill just as it lowered itself into its usual crouch – revealing that Dagur was no longer on its back.

_"It's you, isn't it?"_ Dagur asked from behind him, and he spun to keep track of him, head flicking between him and the Skrill._ "HAHA, we're DESTINED to fight, you and I! HEHEHE! This time I'll be sure to honour you with a GLORIOUS death!"_

Dreamer hissed at him, panic rising in his chest, as they closed in from either side. He couldn't attack either of them without exposing his back to the other. Though if he fled, Dagur would need to remount-

He launched himself away from both of them.

_CRA-A-A-A-ACK!_

He saw it happen even as he fell. The Skrill fired with no warning whatsoever and the resulting lightning forked out over a wide area, striking Dreamer and everything around him. His body felt like his muscles had exploded from his scales, and he couldn't even cry out in the agony he felt.

But he wasn't dead, far from it. The pain subsided to a deep ache almost immediately, though he still couldn't move. _The wider area…_

_"Disappointing,"_ Dagur complained as he casually walked over, the Skrill prowling up next to him. _"I thought we understood each other, man to dragon. Well, don't worry. I'll tell everyone you died fighting."_

Dreamer climbed to his paws and staggered, barely able to walk and unable to take his wide eyes from Dagur or stop his fearful whine.

Without warning, a living shadow exploded from the undergrowth at Dagur, tearing into him and separating him from his axe so swiftly and forcefully the haft snapped in two. At the same time, Astrid vaulted from behind a tree and slashed at the Skrill's neck with her axe, which reared back with a _furious, pained_ screech.

Wanderer and Dagur launched into a massive brawl, both landing plenty of blows but neither apparently able to hurt the other, as Dagur lacked a weapon and Wanderer was unable to bite or claw through the armour. Astrid faced the Skrill down as it roared at her.

Something caught on Dreamer's paw and he stumbled back to the ground, gasping for breath and whimpering at the pain streaking through him. He was worse than useless here, just something for Astrid and Wanderer to need to protect.

Astrid was doing a remarkable job of dodging and slashing its face, but after she stepped aside from a downward slash the Skrill threw its wing across to catch her side and send her sprawling. It spared her a disdainful snort before advancing on Dreamer with murder in its eyes.

Responding to Dreamer's renewed fearful whines, Wanderer tried to disengage from Dagur, shoving him back, but Dagur grabbed his paw and pulled him off-balance, then slipped around behind him to put him in a headlock. Wanderer flailed and struggled, his legs, wings and tail all trying to get under the arms around his neck and foreleg. _"HEHEHEEE, just relax and enjoy the show!"_

_"Leave… him… alone…!"_ Astrid strode slowly back in front of the Skrill, in front of Dreamer, then raised her axe. It was in her left hand, her right arm hanging limply and apparently too injured to fight with, but she faced down the Skrill with all the ferocity of a true Viking.

The Skrill glanced at Dagur, then tensed and screeched at the sky. Immediately, the surrounding area lit up with lightning again, but as Dreamer predicted it was almost entirely blocked by the trees.

Almost. A few bolts found their way to the Skrill's long spines on its back, and it settled back down with its eyes on Astrid. Dreamer found his paws and forced his body to action, having just realised something strange. Dagur had been sitting _on_ the Skrill this entire time and had never been hurt, and was also wearing strange metal armour. The anvil that had been hit in the forge. That the Skrill's spines felt like metal.

Lightning liked metal.

He tackled Astrid, pushing her axe away from her as he did, right as the area around them lit up with lightning. It was a desperate plan, but he had nothing to lose at this point.

The splintering light converged on the axe and arced from there directly into the sodden ground, the remaining bolts veering too wide to strike either of them. The two of them hit the ground and rolled, Dreamer landing limply, but Astrid was on her feet in a flash and dove for her axe. She slid under the bite of the Skrill's long mouth and swiftly opened its throat.

_"NO!"_ Dagur roared, right as Wanderer twisted his entire upper body around and smashed his head into the side of Dagur's helmet, knocking it off, then literally flipped Dagur off his feet. He then dropped his weight heavily onto Dagur's chest, crumpling his armour and leaving the Berserker wheezing desperately for breath.

Dreamer groaned in relief and slumped to the ground. It was over.

He looked up at a confused grunt from Wanderer to see him sniffing Dagur more closely. His big green eyes went wide, and then he took a deep breath to let out a resounding, screeching roar of such _fury_ it set Dreamer's scales on edge.

Dreamer saw what was about to happen a moment before it did. _Hurt, desperate!_ he roared.

Wanderer's teeth froze less than a claw-length from Dagur's face.

_"Do it,"_ Dagur wheezed into the toothy maw._ "Send me… to Valhalla to… feast with my ancestors… Release me…! Do it!"_

"Please," Dreamer whimpered, struggling to climb to his paws and staring pleadingly at his friend. "He not can fight now. Not need kill him." Fighting and killing to defend themselves was one thing, but he wouldn't allow themselves to be the cold killers everyone thought them to be.

"Your s- _alpha_ not kill him," Wanderer snarled. "Then he do you much bad. He come back again if I not."

"This different. Our nest ensure he not." He tried standing, as he wanted to growl this next bit in Dagur's face, but quickly found it not worth the effort. "Our nest not let him free this time," he grit out from where he lay. "If do, I will kill him."

Wanderer pulled back with a furious snarl, but then his claws whipped forward to slash into Dagur's face. The Berserker didn't even make a sound as his head snapped to the side, going limp.

Dreamer collapsed again with another groan. _Now_ it was over.

* * *

_That_ had been an interesting altercation to watch… "Can you walk?" Astrid asked the limp Night Fury as she staggered over to it, then stumbled and dropped to the ground from where she looked over it worriedly. It looked as exhausted as she felt, though its eyes were as bright and calculating as ever as it looked her over in turn.

It shook its head wearily and dragged itself to its paws, stumbling a moment before planting itself firmly on the ground, then raised its head with its eyes narrowed and a growl in its throat.

_I just saved your life!_ But she couldn't make herself say the words. She was too exhausted and sore. If that hadn't earned its favour, she never would.

Eyes drifting out of focus, she lifted her left hand and dimly inspected the bloody mess of her palm where she'd grabbed what was left of her axe handle to bury it in the Skrill's throat. Her right arm was still numb and could barely move. She had no way to defend herself.

"Just do what you want," she mumbled, slumping defeatedly. Part of her didn't even want to defend herself. She deserved whatever the Furies wanted to do to her anyway.

A deep purring in her ear startled her, and she looked up into the dragon's eyes, now round and friendly. It gave her a small lick on the cheek, and she brought her arm up to hold its-… _his_ head. "I'm s-sorry," she said, her voice cracking and tears mixing into the rain on her face, but instead of growling over her apologies he nuzzled her face with an even louder purr.

She hugged him while she cried into his neck, and they collapsed onto their sides. _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,"_ she blubbered into him while he purred and nuzzled her. "I'm sorry!" she cried at the other Fury as he walked over, and he also purred and nuzzled her.

There was no way she would ever be able to put to words what had happened, or why. Before long, Toothy trotted off into the trees, but Hiccup stayed with her, sheltering most of her from the rain with a wing while she expressed just how _horrible_ she really felt at what she'd done to these beautiful creatures. She only kept enough of an eye on Dagur to ensure he remained unconscious, though there was a small chance he'd died.

Long after she'd tapered down to weary sobs and sniffles, crunching footsteps were abruptly audible over the rain, and then there were people around her. She was dimly aware of being lifted by someone, something thrown over her to shield her from the constant downpour, and then darkness slowly claimed her.

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_Thanks to VigoGrimborne for pointing out a bit of a sprawling inconsistency to sparing Dagur,which has been corrected._


	32. Opportunity

A large part of being a Viking Chief was having the ability to read the people, and Stoick considered himself quite well-versed in that skill. Tradition demanded that he throw a huge feast to celebrate successfully fending off a raid from an enemy and capturing their Chief, as well as separately for killing a legendary Skrill, but he could tell from the general murmur that nobody was in the mood for it.

They would of course celebrate Astrid's achievement, and the warriors they lost, but not victory. It just didn't feel like one.

"Tuffnut," he called out, spotting the teen admiring the carnage. "Will you find somewhere quiet for the Furies to rest? Even I can tell they're restless." He sighed; he really couldn't blame the pair for being skittish.

"Huh? Nah, just set 'em up with Stormfly in her stable and put Kingstail with them." Tuffnut didn't even turn, continuing to stare at the ruined house front with a revered awe. _Hmph,_ he needed to learn to respect his Chief… but, miracles didn't happen overnight. Why Kingstail though? Spitelout was busy with him.

He nearly started the argument that it was the teen's job to actually do what he'd suggested, but then realised he should probably have Fishlegs check them over anyway, if he wasn't already. He could do it.

It was just after midday, and the rain had finally let up to no more than random spitting, unnoticeable other than the occasional fat droplet audibly splattering over the glum bustle of the village. The sun had yet to break through the clouds, but some of its warmth shone through. Enough to see how much damage the Skrill had inflicted during its short rampage; there wasn't anywhere Stoick had found that he could not see some ruined roof or shards of debris.

He returned to the Great Hall with purpose in his stride – more for morale than anything – where his eyes were immediately drawn to the far corner and the two big green eyes warily surveying the empty room. As he should have expected, quiet murmuring accompanied the rotund bulk crouched by them. "Fishlegs, how are they?"

"Chief," the boy acknowledged; _there_ was someone who knew respect. "Both took lightning bolts, but we think they were less… focused? So they didn't hit as hard. Kind of like-"

"I don't need the details," Stock politely interrupted. "If they don't need anything else, put them with Stormfly."

"But she's injured too."

That explained that. "Aye, Kingstail will be along shortly."

"...Ah, yeah, that makes sense." Fishlegs listened to one of the Furies for a moment. "Hiccup wants to know how Astrid is."

"Bedridden, and picking up a fever," Stoick replied sadly, and there was a sad draconic sound. "Doesn't look serious, she'll be up again in a few days." He eyed the two Furies, considering what they'd been through today. "Can you walk to the stables? I don't mind carrying you again."

The dragon chuffed agreeably. "He says he'll walk it," Fishlegs translated.

"All right then. Fishlegs, go with them." He watched, deep in thought, as the two dragons stiffly trudged out of the hall. They were his, as far as they could be considered anyone's, but where had he been? Where had he been the first time they were taken? Where was he when the Speed Stingers attacked? When things had gone wrong on Meathead Island?

He considered Astrid. Separately, he considered Dagur's attack. If it was good enough for the Chief of the Berserkers…

"Fishlegs," he called out just before the teen stepped through the doors. "When things have settled down… get me my own dragon."

* * *

"Yeh got 'till the count o' three ter surrender!" Spitelout shouted from Kingstail's back, high above the Berserker boat that still floated in Berk's waters. "One…! Two…! Three!"

Two boats worth of Hooligan warriors roared and clambered up both sides, quickly securing the empty deck and warily surrounding the stairs at the back leading down to the hold. Kingstail landed heavily shortly after, Spitelout holding his axe at the ready.

Kingstail put his nose to the deck, then clucked uneasily with his spines and quills flexing. It set Spitelout on edge, this was weird enough as it was without his dragon being strange about it too.

"You lo', be ready ter storm in," he ordered, pointing at the warriors by the stairs. "Rest o' you, get ready ter ge' this hatch open." He walked Kingstail off the big hatch on the deck, a common feature of trade ships, and it was quickly surrounded.

He held his axe up, everyone keeping a tense eye on him, then gave the signal. The hatch was hauled open at the same time the other half of his forces disappeared into the stairs with another battle cry.

No sounds of fighting rang from beneath, and what he could see of the hold was empty. He dismounted and leaned over the edge, watching the Hooligans inside and looking for the inevitable ambush. None came.

"Clear!" came the eventual shout from below. _What in Odin's name…?_ He dropped down and turned warily, axe held at the ready. Even if there even was such a thing as a Berserker who wanted to hide, however, the hold was open and very clearly empty.

Speaking of, he looked around at the hold itself. One side consisted mostly of a single large cage, big enough for a Nightmare, lined with straw and featuring a huge iron shackle attached to a chain that ran through a hole in the floorboards. The other side held six smaller, individual cages. Probably where they had held the hapless Gronckles that had been released from the boat only to be slaughtered in sight of the island.

He looked up at Kingstail above, who was back to scenting the deck and hissing fretfully. "Everyone off," he ordered grimly, waving to the stairs. "We burn it all."

"Bu' it's a good ship," someone protested.

"It's a _cursed_ ship," Spitelout growled back as he strode to the stairs. "Bu' feel free ter go down with it if ya want."

If there was going to be an ambush, however unlikely, it would be-

…Nothing. He walked right outside without issue, other than the cold chills creeping down his spine. Kingstail also seemed overeager to get him back into the saddle. None of this sat right with him. Where in Thor's name could the crew even have gone? Dagur certainly hadn't sailed this big boat all the way here by himself.

A boat this size required several sailors to operate, but they didn't seem to be on the boat. They also hadn't attacked the village, the docks had of course been secured as a precaution. _Maybe_ they were on the island, waiting for an opportunity to rescue their Chief, but that would imply they'd thought failure was a possibility in the first place.

"Burn it, Kingstail." The deck was bathed in white-hot fire, the wood struggling to catch but eventually relenting, and the remaining Hooligans finally showed some haste in departing the vessel. For good measure they aimed some fire down into the hold too, easily setting the straw alight, then flapped up into the air.

That was a sensation Spitelout was certain he would never get used to, seeing the enormous boat shrink into the distance below him, but by _Thor_ he would never get tired of it either. Gone were the days of efficiently plotting routes through the village, though he wasn't about to admit it had taken him six months to realise he was spending more time planning than he was saving in travel.

After wheeling around long enough to watch the flames completely engulf the deck, he brought Kingstail over to the village to alight near the cells. He wanted answers.

The firm lock gave way to his key and he let himself in, navigating the dark corridor with practised ease. Dagur was awake in the far cell, sat on the cot and staring vacantly through the bars, wearing the simple clothes that had been under his armour.

"So," he announced himself, "a Berserker wearing clothes. Armour, even, an' their Chief a' tha'. Wha's this world comin' to?"

"Yeah, I dunno either," Dagur replied mildly, "but apparently you need it to ride a Skrill. Learned that the hard way, whuhoohoo."

"Armour don' protect agains' lightnin'," Spitelout replied with no small amount of disdain.

"Apparently, it does! When built right. I know, craaaazy, right?" He then giggled madly.

Spitelout sighed, he was getting nowhere with that. "Was on yer boat jus' now," he tried instead.

"She's a beauty, right? Designed by the finest shipmasters we could raid for." His tone switched to mockingly authoritative. "Don't go getting any ideas now!"

"No ideas," Spitelout said casually, "I sank it."

"Hahaha, you did _WHAT!?"_

_There_ was the Berserker attitude Spitelout was expecting. The conversation so far had been just as eerie as the boat. "Tha's wha' I'm here for, actually. Where did ya crew get to?"

And then the conversation slid right through comfortable territory and off into insane. Dagur lunged forward, slamming his hands and face into the bars so savagely that they shook in place and rained down rock dust. "Don't you _DARE_ pretend they never existed!" he screeched, spittle flying from his mouth. "That was thirty of my _best men,_ they deserve to die to FAR better than your WORTHLESS TRIBE!"

Spitelout just glanced at where the bars met the ceiling, deeming them still solid, and otherwise didn't react. "Sorry boyo, we ain't killed nobody today. 'Less you count yer Skrill. Yer the only Berserker 'ere."

"Don't LIE TO ME!" he shrieked, shaking the bars and then pacing anxiously in the cell, arms moving in a variety of strange motions.

"Got no reason to lie," Spitelout said simply. "Ah'll respect a good warrior as much as any Viking."

The pacing stopped, and Dagur suddenly stared at him with an intensity beyond his years. "You killed my Skrill," he grit out. "I _will_ kill your Night Furies."

"I doubt it," Spitelout said casually as he walked away, "yer killin' days are over. Maybe if yer lucky, yeh migh' ge' to kill some rats."

While normally he would have smirked at the furious roar behind him, it was with a grim stride that he emerged out into the light. This didn't make sense, and he didn't like things that didn't make sense.

* * *

Wanderer sighed as he watched the shadows creep across the damp stone from Stormfly's den, of which the primary occupant slumbered nearby. He was exhausted, but the pain in his wing was a little too strong to allow him to drift off; he really shouldn't have flown on it after it was struck by the Storm-Wing's lightning, not that he'd had much choice. _Grrr, if only…_

It seemed as if he was always waiting for things to get better. When he'd first flown these cold winds he'd hoped for somewhere safe, then that the trap would lure more of his own kind, then they'd hatched again and he needed his thinking, hoping that Dreamer woke up, then he waited for his body to grow, and now… "I happy we get fire next hot-season." There was a bit of growing to do after that, but it was essentially the last defence to develop.

Dreamer raised his head to stare at him in confusion. _"Next_ hot-season?" He continued to stare when Wanderer grunted an affirmative. "…You say four hot-seasons."

"Yes, we get fire in fourth hot-season," Wanderer grumbled. "This our third hot-season."

"You say four hot-seasons _after_ we already live one hot-season," Dreamer groaned, then batted at him.

"We get fire next hot-season," Wanderer replied flippantly, ignoring the half-hearted swatting; they were both too sore to even consider tussling.

"…Good," Dreamer grunted quietly.

They returned to silent rest, listening to the quiet breathing of each other and Storm-Fly, staring at Alpha-Tail as he lay across the mouth of the den. Too weary to do anything, but minds too restless to even doze.

"I still think I should killed that Long-Paw," Wanderer mumbled.

Dreamer growled quietly. "Long-Paws think we kill always. Even some in this nest. We _not_ kill always." He then let out a dark purr. "But he want you kill him. Now _he_ trapped, grounded. This much more bad for him. Let him rot."

Wanderer tilted his head where it lay with a curious murr. Was Dreamer insisting on this out of mercy or spite? Both, to be sure, but which did he feel more strongly about?

Personally, he didn't care about either. "He not will hunt us again?"

"No," Dreamer said with a reassuring nuzzle. "He not let free again."

That helped… but Wanderer didn't like knowing he was still out there, still a possible threat, however unlikely. He growled, relaxing his head back onto his paws. When they got their fire, he would again be the strongest hunter. Maybe then he wouldn't worry so much.

And so his thinking looped around and around, only finding true rest when the sky-fire neared the end of its long trek in the hot-season sky.

* * *

Despite his words, Dreamer was no longer sure of his decision. He'd now had two days to think on it, and regret and fear were worming their way under his scales. It would be so much easier and less stressful to have just let Wanderer kill Dagur.

He stretched, working his stiff muscles, but so much laying around was making him restless, and no amount of stretching was helping the dull aching through his body. A thought crossed his mind as he watched the light fade from the sky, but he pushed it away.

It was a persistent thought, however.

He sighed as the first of the brighter sky-sparks became visible, and rose to his paws, slowly working his body into moving. Wanderer was still fast asleep as Dreamer padded out of the den.

Kingstail quietly chirped _enquiry_ at him, Dreamer responded with a low croon but didn't turn or stop. The big Nadder grumbled and rose to plod over. Instead of grabbing and carting him back to the den, however, he followed behind at a short distance as Dreamer walked out of the training ring and around towards the village.

_How nice of him…_ But the distraction didn't last. The path was long, and while the walking felt good he wasn't even up for as much as a slow trot, so he couldn't stop his mind going back to that one question. _Why did I spare him…_

_Hiccup eyed the tiny bird as it struggled to traverse the grass. "What's wrong with him Dad?"_

_Stoick knelt down next to him, then looked up and sighed. "Fell from its nest, and broke its wing." He sighed again. "Very sad. But these things happen, son. The only right thing to do is to end its suffering."_

_"No, Dad! Can't… Can't we help him? Can't we help him get better…?"_

_His father stared at him, and he hurriedly wiped the tears from his eyes. If only they weren't immediately replaced, knowing he was only in for another lecture on being weak…_

_"…Fetch me a twig."_

_Hiccup froze, then stared at his father. His expression was soft. "Okay," he said hurriedly, and stumbled to a nearby tree to snap one off._

_"Now hold him, very carefully…"_

Dreamer glanced back at his own wing as he walked, splinted and bound. It was only a very minor fracture, if even that, on the leading edge of his wing halfway between the wrist and the tip. It certainly _felt_ fractured, given the deep and dull aching that came and went.

_"What… What happened, Dad?"_

_Stoick sighed mightily and sat down at the table to look at the bird, laying on its side, unmoving. "It's dead, son. There's nothing more we can do."_

_Hiccup struggled to find words. "But… why?"_

_"It could have been anything. Maybe it was scared, or just sad it couldn't fly."_

_Tears were streaming down Hiccup's face. "But we saved it! We…"_

The image of the lifeless bird on the table was burned into Dreamer's mind. The other details were fuzzy, but that he remembered vividly.

_"We shouldn't have tried, should we?" he sobbed. "I should have been stronger…"_

_"Oh, son," Stoick whispered, pulling him into an awkward embrace. "Life isn't weakness. To try isn't weakness. To fight for life is the hardest path, and the heaviest burden…"_

He hadn't really noticed it at the time, but his father's words had cracked and hitched at that point, heartbroken.

_"But… sometimes… you fight for life, for the slightest chance… and it's the hardest thing you've ever done… but you're rewarded with the greatest gift of all…"_

Dreamer staggered to a halt, unable to hold his head up or stop the quiet keening gripping his throat. Stoick had to be talking about _him._ Of the baby, born far too early, that everyone was sure would not make it. Everyone except the father.

Kingstail warbled worriedly as he approached and gently nuzzled Dreamer's side. Dreamer leaned into the gesture, gradually wresting himself back under control, then resumed walking.

Yes, letting Wanderer kill Dagur would have been the easy thing to do. That didn't make it the _right_ thing to do. Would it also be safer to kill Gobber, or Astrid? Where did he draw the line? Who _decided_ where that line was drawn? Did anyone even have that right?

How much worse than Dagur was Stoick, really? At the point Stoick sailed off to the Dragon Nest with Toothless in chains, what made him any more deserving of life than Dagur?

Life was the hard way of doing things. It would lead to responsibility, conflict, heartbreak, and much, much more… but sometimes, it would all be worth it. It was already worth it; both Nightstrikers owed their lives to a choice of life.

With that in mind, how could Dreamer ever choose death, when there was a choice to make? Sometimes there _wasn't_ a choice, he could admit that, but in that case all there was to do was ensure that the one who died was the one who had decided on death in the first place.

Dreamer purred as he stepped off the bridge and into the village, not really paying attention to where he was going. That was a simple definition, a narrow line in the sand with little room for interpretation or bias.

_Hrrr,_ but would Wanderer see the same reasoning? Dreamer's thoughts went back to when he'd freed the injured Nightstriker after finding him in the woods… He'd known who had shot him down, had every reason to take revenge… but he hadn't. Dreamer suspected he wouldn't be averse to the logic. They could talk about it later.

A youth suddenly surprised Dreamer from his thoughts by walking within a few paces, crouching down, and offering him a large fish. After briefly wondering what he was doing out after sunset when the nights were still so short, Dreamer carefully took it from him and secured it in his belly, then nuzzled the hand with a purr thrumming in his throat and continued on his way.

The path he'd taken was convoluted due to his inattention, reflecting on his choices and thinking about the future, but eventually he was staring at the door to the village's cells. Locked, of course.

Dreamer snorted; he'd probably _made_ that lock. He stood on his hindlegs to inspect it, poking a hooked claw into the wide keyhole – and then grunted in surprise as the mechanisms moved easily, unlocking with a click. Probably one of Gobber's locks then.

Kingstail cawed warily as Dreamer pulled the door open, as even just his head was too wide for the door. Dreamer warbled reassuringly and nudged the Spine-Tail's snout before padding inside.

It was already quite dark outside, and even darker inside, but all that meant was that the dull and dreary interior was duller and drearier. He was nervous, but that was more borne of not knowing what to expect rather than any sort of concern.

Dagur had been put in the deepest cell, and was peering curiously around the bars in trying to see down the hall. There wasn't really any hiding from him; even without the pale cloth bandages over the splint on his wing, he could not totally silence the rough pads of his paws or the quiet clicking of his claws. Even still, it took several moments for Dagur to see him in the dark.

Dreamer didn't really have an expectation for how this would go… but Dagur calmly looking him over as if he was a piece of plain furniture was unnerving to say the least. He tilted his head with a quiet, discontented rumble in his throat. Dagur mimicked him.

He huffed. It didn't feel like Dagur was trying to get in his head… More that he was just curious. He'd been caged up in here for two days and the intervening night, Dreamer knew from experience that did strange things to a person. _At least you're getting fed._

Dagur frowned briefly with a light grunt, then sat back cross-legged in the middle of the cell. _"You didn't kill me,"_ he stated flatly.

_Evidently,_ Dreamer thought with a roll of his eyes.

_"Oh, that was weird,"_ Dagur muttered in a suddenly harried and somewhat frantic tone. _"Weird, ha, I'm talking to a dragon, crazy, HAH, no I'm not crazy, maybe sometimes!"_ He teetered back and forth on his tailbone, giggling and staring somewhere above Dreamer's head.

_It's not really crazy to be talking to dragons these days, but I think you're an exception,_ Dreamer thought as he watched the scene incredulously.

_"But you didn't kill me,"_ he said suddenly, leaning forward to rest his chin on a fist and staring intensely at Dreamer. _"You're still not killing me. You wanted to, or the other one did, doesn't matter, you both didn't kill me, both aren't killing me. Dragons always kill people. Kill or run. Mostly run. Who wouldn't? HA, HAHA! Hmmm. You're not a dragon."_

A growl rose in Dreamer's throat; _yes, I am._

_"Dragons kill people. Night Fury, Night Fury, you're different, nobody's ever seen a Night Fury, dangerous, ooooh so dangerous, but you didn't kill me."_

This was progress, of a sort. Dreamer warbled encouragingly-

_"It's going to be _glorious_ when I kill you! Hehehee, I can't wait!"_

_Snort._ Maybe there really was no saving him, no showing him how wrong he was. And the rest of the Berserkers… There was no telling how crazy _they_ were, though if everyone was this insane the tribe simply wouldn't function. Would they go back to infighting, or elect a new Chief?

Part of him wanted to laugh at Dagur now that _he_ was the one trapped and caged – it was half his reason for coming here in the first place – but he couldn't summon a shred of mirth. He could only sigh sadly as he looked over the madman in the cage, who now sat primly and stared at him with a childishly innocent smile.

_"Buh bye, Night Fury!"_ he called out cheerfully as Dreamer turned back to the entrance and padded outside. _He can't hurt anyone now,_ he thought as he closed the door. It didn't hurt to give him the chance.

But what if he _did_ somehow escape, as unlikely as that would be? What if Stoick _did_ decide to set him free, for better relations or whatever? What if…

_Then I will kill him._ Next year they would have their fire, those extraordinarily powerful explosive shots that had levelled catapults _and_ the towers they were built on. It would be frighteningly easy to kill whoever they wanted.

But the circumstances were different now, if Dreamer's hunches were correct. There would be no handing Dagur back to Berserk as a peace offering. He likely wouldn't be executed – he was still a Chief, after all – but one way or another he would not go free.

He felt inside the lock with a claw, and easily slid the pins back into place. Strange, it was far too loose to be secure, but then again it wasn't as if these cells saw much use. He shrugged and glanced around, then eyed the shadow of a nearby building… It was a long walk back, he should rest here a bit. Kingstail wouldn't mind, surely.

Kingstail initially offered him a lift, but he didn't want to risk the splint and his wing in those teeth. He only needed a few minutes anyway.

* * *

A metallic scraping and rattling pricked at Dreamer's ears in his semi-aware sleep. It seemed to go on for a long time, overlaid with muted cursing, until finally a door swung open and the sound ceased.

Something wasn't right about that… It felt like claws resting on Dreamer's head, something that _might_ be dangerous and that he needed to check before he could go back to sleep.

He sighed and nudged Kingstail's wing off himself, then groaned at finding himself in the village. He'd only intended on a brief rest, but Kingstail's side had been so relaxing…

And then suddenly, Dreamer was very much not relaxed – the door to the cells was ajar. _Dagur!_

Dreamer huffed anxiously in Kingstail's face, the Spine-Tail waking with a start, then crept over to the open door and peered inside. There was a cloaked person walking quietly down the corridor. He huffed warily over his shoulder at Kingstail, who seemed to understand he needed to be silent, before creeping down after the person; he could not totally silence his steps, but masking them alongside the comparatively loud footsteps was easy.

Similarly, while he couldn't hide his splinted wing from the cells, he could angle his body a little so that if this person turned, he would not be immediately seen. But they did not turn, they walked ahead quickly, quietly, and purposefully.

Instincts layered onto each other, the need for stealth suppressing a growl before it could rise in Dreamer's throat. Vikings didn't sneak around in the dark like this.

Vikings also wouldn't point a bow and arrow at a prisoner.

Dreamer leaped forward, the scuffing of his paws on the stone causing the intruder to violently flinch in surprise in the moment before he shoved them aside. A _deafening_ scream echoed off the stone walls, but Dreamer fought through the sharp pain it inflicted and pounced the woman, standing on her chest and strangling the crippling noise.

Her hands rose and clumsily tried to fend him off, but a flash of his teeth and a snarl dissuaded them from trying anything other than pushing at the paw on her chest. She was still forcing out a shrill wheeze, so he didn't relent.

Kingstail barking through the door cut through the lingering ringing in his ears, and he barked back _confidence_ to communicate he had the situation in paw.

A sharp pain in his side got his attention – when had she drawn a dagger!? _Grrr,_ all the metal in this corridor was throwing him off the subtler scent of sharpened iron. But it had barely made it through his hide, if at all, and he quickly stood on the offending arm with his hindleg.

Actually, what was he going to do from here? It wasn't as if he could throw her in a cell, he had no way to lock it. He needed help. A bark of _summons_ was echoed in a loud roar by Kingstail outside.

She struggled feebly against him as he held her down, bumping her knees into his side and pushing at the paw on her chest. He took a moment to inspect her, recognising a deep scent of the kitchens, and her contorted face was somewhat familiar.

Finally, a weary voice spoke outside. _"Ah Kingstail, what'ya gone and got me into this time…"_ Dreamer smirked; it sounded like they'd been on more than a few adventures together already.

The woman struggled more frantically, daring to try pushing at Dreamer's chin with her free hand, but a twitch of his claws had her back to trying to pry them off. It was awkward, but he manoeuvred around to face Spitelout without releasing the pressure on her chest or allowing the arm holding the dagger to rise. For good measure, he worked the knife out of her grip and flicked it over to Spitelout's feet.

Spitelout frowned at the weapon, kicked it into the cell next to him, then continued forward to stand over them. _"Neither o' you should be 'ere,"_ he said casually as he folded his arms, though to a dragon's ears there was a subtle tension to his voice. _"Stand down, 'Iccup."_ Dreamer complied, wary of more screaming, but she just coughed and wheezed heavily._ "Now, care ter explain yerself?"_

She continued coughing as she stood, then doubled over and stumbled forward – and suddenly shoved her way past Spitelout and sprinted towards the door. Dreamer was about to bolt after her, but paused to stare incredulously at Spitelout as a leg was put in front of him. The man just sighed in resignation and watched her disappear outside.

A surprised shriek and angry hiss had Dreamer release the breath he was holding. Kingstail had been trained well.

With a start, he realised Dagur was just sitting there watching them, his face totally blank. He was holding an arrow in his fingertips.

Dreamer growled _warning,_ but Dagur just casually held out the arrow for Spitelout to take, which he did warily. _"You want this too?"_ Dagur suddenly asked, reaching across the floor and holding out a _knife._ _"I don't cook, but I don't think this goes in a soup."_ A quiet giggle, the slightest smile, but otherwise no emotion at all. It was _eerie._

On the other paw, Spitelout's expression was downright _murderous_ as he took the blade_._ _"Come, 'Iccup,"_ he ordered tersely as he turned to stride to the exit. Dreamer snorted disdainfully at the tone, spared Dagur a last wary glance, and padded after him.

There were actually quite a few people around as Dreamer emerged outside, Kingstail poised to skewer anyone trying to push through while standing with a paw on the would-be assassin.

_"Nothin' ter see 'ere, clear off,"_ Spitelout said to the crowd, not really sounding all that enthusiastic about it, but Kingstail made a far more convincing argument with teeth and growls that had everyone at least backing away. _"Are yeh gonna talk, lassie, or we gonna do this the hard way?"_ She just continued trying to push at the long talons holding her down. _"Alrigh' then, suit yeself."_ He grabbed her as Kingstail stepped off, and hauled her into the cells – Dreamer realised he was standing in the doorway and hastily moved out of the way – then reappeared a few moments later without her.

Dreamer left him swearing at the lock, starting the long walk back to Wanderer and Storm-Fly. He had a feeling that when he reached them, he would have no trouble sleeping long into the light.

* * *

_"He found it while sorting out the forge, took until now to work it out,"_ the teen drawled bitterly. _"I kinda wanted to beat him half to death with it when he asked me, but given you haven't already I figured I'd just see what you wanted to do."_

Dreamer scowled off to the side, then sighed and tilted his head promptingly at the iron ingot Tuffnut was holding. He scented it as it was held forward, definitely the one he and Wanderer had been happily licking and gumming over the winter, and it was true that it wasn't showing any sign of rust or weathering. If anything, it was gleaming in the mid-morning light.

With the prospect of an interesting thing instead of boring talk, Wanderer padded over to stick his nose into matters. He also scented the ingot, then casually grabbed it in his gums and walked off with it. "…I not think you get that back," Dreamer observed as Wanderer curled up with it at the back of Storm-Fly's den.

_"What would I do with it?"_ Tuffnut asked plainly. _"Other than throw it at someone I guess. But there's better things to throw at people."_

_Wwrr,_ Dreamer was hardly going to suggest giving it back to Gobber. It was a good thing to have access to, he noticed that his energy had improved dramatically when they'd had it over winter. Which was odd because he wasn't actually eating any of it… but his body apparently liked it, on occasion.

Try as he might, he couldn't distract himself with details. He'd refrained from thinking about his old mentor, of what he'd done, but he couldn't really ignore it either. What he had done with Astrid wouldn't work, Gobber didn't want their trust, he just wanted their saliva.

It was something they had an abundance of – now that he was thinking about it, his mouth was filling up by itself – so it wasn't as if it was anything valuable to the Nightstrikers…

_"Don't worry Hiccy, just say the word… so to speak… or not speak, as you do… don't… Just say the word, and I'll pay him back tenfold. Astrid too. I have… ideas… for her."_

"No," Dreamer snorted with a roll of his eyes. "Also, we good with female now, not worry." _Grrr,_ they'd need to come up with some way to address people in Dragonese…

Tuffnut wrinkled his nose and looked at Dreamer sceptically. _"Because she killed a dragon for you? Even if it _was_ trying to kill you, you did as much for her, for everyone, with the Speed Stingers."_

_Oh yeah,_ Dreamer had forgotten about them. "Not that. She trust me again. She understand now." It wasn't so much what Astrid and Gobber had done – he would have been happy to help if given the _choice,_ or at the very least they could have warned them of what they were sending them to. It was that they'd been trapped and handed over without thought, like livestock. That sort of attitude was the exact opposite of what he was trying to encourage.

_"Well, whatever you did, can we do the same thing with Gobber?"_

"No, he not want us trust him." But he did want _something_ from them, and he wasn't getting it while he thought they were yaks to be milked. Dreamer groaned and curled around to scratch behind his ear while he thought. He was getting frustrated with his inability to communicate with anyone but the teens.

…There was an obvious solution to that, one that was ideal while he was temporarily grounded and still recovering from the Skrill attack. He glanced back at Wanderer, wondering how long it would take to teach a dragon to write.

* * *

The village's cells always held a grim, oppressive silence. No sound made it through the rock, and while sounds could be heard through the open door, it was as if they remained outside, like observing a calm meadow from across a barrier of sea. A quiet, regular scuffing from the furthest cell and a desolate tapping from the closest did little to change the mood.

Stoick paused to glance into Runa's cell on the way past. She kept her head down, tapping a spoon against the stone ground to a slow tempo. Found a day's sailing away on a boat so wrecked they couldn't be certain of its origins, she'd been hurried back to the village to treat several burns she'd suffered from dragon fire. Her family was gone, but she proved herself a young and brash soul and had begged to stay to make up for her treatment.

But there was something more going on here, clearly. Had she been the one to sneak a knife to Dagur? Why? And had she actually then tried to kill Dagur as Fishlegs claimed the Fury witnessed, or was she just bringing it to him?

The latter made much more sense… or it would, had Dagur not happily handed over both weapons. But then why sneak him one in the first place?

Stoick sighed disappointedly as he moved on. Whatever the case, she wasn't talking, so she wasn't innocent. It was simply a case of keeping her here until she decided talking was easier.

He reached Dagur's cell and found him doing push-ups, showing no signs of fatigue or even strain. The memory of his brutal strikes with sword and axe was suddenly fresh in Stoick's mind, his bizarre fighting style ruthlessly effective with the raw strength the somewhat wiry man could summon.

"Get up," he ordered as he unlocked the cell. "You're going home." He chuckled when Dagur paused to stare at him suspiciously. "Don't worry, you're not staying there."

"Oh, good, I mean I know you've gone soft but _that_ would just be whuahahaaHA! Ooh, gonna do some blackmailing?" He scurried to his feet, holding his arms out for the manacles; even he had to realise there was no point in trying to escape, there was nowhere to go. "I've never been ransomed before… Am I presentable? How's my hair? OH, can you rough me up a bit? Wait, not now, maybe, a day before we get there?"

Stoick grit his teeth and roughly dragged Dagur out of the cells and into the mid-morning light by the short bar connecting his manacles. He continued to spout nonsense in a friendly, amiable tone as they walked through the village, showing no sign of aggression or scheming. Stoick kept his guard up in case it was a front, there was the knife to consider, and perhaps other people with Runa's motivations.

He sighed in relief as the torrent of insanity trailed off, but then hesitated in his stride as he noticed Fishlegs standing just off the path with two stony faced Night Furies by his side.

They were growing at an impressive rate, even if not by dragon standards, and were definitely now large and strong enough to instil wariness with their cold expressions. Stoick felt a familiar pang of guilt and regret at that, there should not be such weight behind the stare of anyone with so few years.

"Don't get any ideas," he growled under his breath as he yanked on the chain again, but Dagur remained silent.

He happened to glance back after passing them, in time to see them fall in line behind him and Dagur, who was craning around to watch them. "This'll be no place for young dragons," he shot at them, "you'll not be coming."

"Heh, yeah, I don't really think that's your call to make, Chief," Fishlegs said in amusement. A draconic snort voiced its agreement.

"My ship, my rules, no dragons, no buts." He yanked on Dagur's manacles again and quickened his pace through the village.

They were still following him when he reached the docks. "You'll _not_ be coming," Stoick repeated himself loudly, enough to be overheard by the crew preparing the longboat, then roughly tossed Dagur aboard; credit to him, he landed on his feet. Stoick watched in stony satisfaction as his men appeared to accidentally block the Furies from just walking aboard in the moments it took to cast off. Subtle, Vikings were not, but they were well practised in passive aggression.

Maybe if the Furies had their fire, he would have let them come, or at least offered to let them join the second wave. He would have thought about it, at least, but as it was there was no point in even that. They watched him watch them as the boat departed.

* * *

It was a beautiful summer night, the wind blowing warm across the endless waves and the stars lighting the sky with their majesty, so bright and numerous that the only dark patch in the sky was behind the crescent moon. Not even a Night Fury could sneak around this night, as startlingly clear as it was.

The first night of sailing was always Stoick's favourite, when there was a bit of breeze to keep them going. He liked to man the till through it, because it made it easier to sleep the second night, because minimal effort was required to keep the steady pace so everyone else could rest, but mostly just because he could. There was nobody vying for his attention, no duties to attend, minimal inventory he needed to keep, and best of all, no record keeping. And he could trust Spitelout and Gobber to keep things running well enough while he was gone that he would not be inundated on his return.

Out here, there was absolutely nothing to worry about. There was just the water lapping against the hull and the wind jostling the sails.

A squeak distracted him, and in his peaceful state he didn't even think about what he would find when he turned. Just the Furies, lounging along the aft railing.

…

He did a tense double take. "Odin's _beard,_ you two, you'll scare a man to death one day," he muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Should you even be flying?" One of them languidly raised his head to look lazily at him, then yawned with a cavernously toothy maw and another squeak before resting back on the rail, tail tapping idly against the deck. "I said, _no_. Go back to Berk, I'll not sail you into Hel myself, not after what you've been through."

One of them favoured him with a snort.

"I'll throw you overboard if I have to." Nothing. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He locked the till, then took two menacing steps to reach the nearest Fury. It didn't react, not even when he hefted it aloft and, after a moment's hesitation, heaved it high into the air behind the boat.

Only for the dragon to drop like a stone and disappear into the water with a splash.

Stoick grabbed the edge of the rail and leaned out over it, trying to see where he'd hit the water and watching for him to surface; with the still water and bright sky, it shouldn't be difficult, and they weren't moving all that fast.

One minute passed.

Two.

The other Fury was disinterestedly looking out over the water behind the boat. Should he be worried? Could dragons swim? Did he need to turn the boat around? Why hadn't the damn thing just flown!?

A dripping wet dragon was suddenly beside him, peering down into the water, causing him to stumble back into the rudder with a startled grunt. It looked down the back of the ship, then out across the water, and lastly at Stoick with curious and innocent eyes and a slight tilt of the head.

"Scare a man to death one day," Stoick muttered as he took up the rudder again.

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_So, as much as I've prodded fun for tripping over the calendar (you know who you are) I must admit I didn't so much trip over it as faceplant into it, somehow thinking we were an extra year into the story._

_Two small corrections have been made in recent chapters – the Nightstrikers are currently two and a half years old, for anyone who was paying attention to that. And then I revisited my overall planner and discovered I hadn't given myself enough time later on, so shifting everything forward a year works out perfectly. Talk about landing on your feet!_

_I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has been leaving their thoughts, or even just acknowledging they enjoyed the chapter! The hallmark of a good author is of course to write for yourself, but it's great to know others are enjoying it too._


	33. Consequence

Something prodded the wings wrapped tightly around Dreamer's body. He ignored it at first, but it was unrelenting, and soon set him swinging uncomfortably.

He retracted a wing enough that he could tilt his head and look down on the boat from where he dangled off the yard at the top of the mast. Stoick was waving an oar around him, which then found its way into the gap between his wings and bopped him firmly on the head.

_Sure, wake a dragon in the middle of the day why don't you. _He fully unfurled and stretched out, his wings briefly catching the wind and pushing his back into the bowed sail, then gazed down at the crew; they were laughing, but with a hint of nervousness, and they'd stepped away from Stoick. Wanderer was still encased in wings, also hanging from his tail on the other side of the mast.

The flat blade of the oar jabbed up at him again, so he grabbed it in his teeth, growling playfully as it was tugged. He had a moment of worry that it was a really stupid thing to do, as his sharp fangs bit deeper the more it was pulled, but then the wood started sliding from his mouth. Stoick suddenly stumbled backwards as the oar, now sporting several deep gouges down the blade, was unexpectedly pulled free. Dreamer pawed the curled wood shavings from his mouth and then grinned ferally down at him.

The laughter rose, only to quiet as Stoick glared at those around him. _"You're not coming!" _he shouted up to the Nightstrikers. _"You can't go four days without food or water, just turn back now!" _

Dreamer scoffed at him, then reached up to walk along under the yard and pushed off the end of it to drop off into the water. It wasn't all that cold, but did serve to wake him a little more; that was annoying, he really would rather be sleeping.

But he had a point to prove. The rapidly departing boat had left an emptiness in its wake, but he spotted a school of fish not too far away and casually swam over to it. They were nimble with their smaller bodies, surrounding him in a tasty cocoon that sparkled with light as he powered into their midst, but a few quick strikes left him with two fish.

He powered up out of the water and easily caught himself on the wind, then downed one of the fish as he coasted back to the boat. For added measure he dipped into the waves again, so that he dripped water all over the deck when he alighted vertically on the mast and climbed back out under the yard. After poking his tail through the gap by the top of the sail and dropping to hang again, he tossed the second fish at Stoick, though it missed and hit the deck with a wet slap.

Stoick glared at it for a while, then snatched it up and threw it over the side. Dreamer initially took offense, but then realised they didn't have any way to cook or preserve it until they made land. Oh well.

His point made, Dreamer tucked his head back in and folded his wings around himself, the rush of the wind instantly muting and the light disappearing from the world. He was damp now, but the rocking of the boat as it powered through the water set him swaying in a gentle and very comforting pattern, quickly lulling him back to sleep, and this time there was no poking.

* * *

It was early into the second night that the boat made landfall, just as the last vestiges of twilight faded from the sky. The wind, ever present in the late summer nights, drove it up onto the short beach where Stoick leaped over the rail with a rope attached to the prow, which he secured to a nearby tree.

One of many stopover islands in the Archipelago, depending on where one was going and which way the wind blew, a place Stoick had been to many times over the years. A lake on the mountain provided enough running water to restock passing ships, but not enough to support a colony, and otherwise the island was covered in a plain and sparse forest with little wildlife.

He had no idea where the Furies were, but they were undoubtedly around somewhere. Whatever he did he just couldn't shake them – they were persistent, he had to give them that – but the idea of taking them to Berserk filled him with dread. That was a tribe of _dragon slayers, _who would love nothing more than to behead and skin an innocent pair of Night Furies.

Stoick sighed as he looked around, then set about organising camp. It wasn't a necessity, and they had enough water to last the journey, but a cooked meal and firm ground to sleep on for a few hours was good for morale.

It didn't take long to get a fire going, it was a clear night and though the wind promised rain they would be gone by the time it hit, so they didn't bother setting up shelters. The nine Hooligans just sat on the sand and roasted meat over the fire, while Dagur watched from the tree he was thoroughly tied to at the edge of the firelight. The Furies did appear for a little while to run around the beach like a pair of lunatics, all but invisible in the dark, but seemed to disappear as the Vikings started propping a boot under their heads and dozing off.

"Ge' some rest, Chief," said a volunteer for the first watch, a stout man by the name of Bellybags.

Stoick grunted his agreement and set up his own boot to lay on, sparing a last look at the dozing Dagur before closing his eyes.

In what felt like no time at all, he was dragged from the deepest depths of sleep by pressure on his shoulder and tense huffing. He dragged his eyes open to find bright green orbs staring at him, the narrow slits within them focused on him.

"Your idea of payback, huh," he grumbled, closing his eyes again. "Keep going with that and see where it gets you."

"I dunno Chief," Bellybags grumbled uncomfortably, "this don' seem like tha'."

Stoick tilted his head to look at the man, then looked back to the Fury. He was squeaking now, and there _was _something frantic about his demeanour. "What is it?"

The Fury – he honestly had no idea which was which these days without checking for the scars – scuttled around him to the fire and started pawing at the dirt. With his head swimming uncomfortably through its exhaustion, Stoick took a moment to put his boot back on before leaning over to look at what he was doing. _Cursed dragon could have brought someone to translate… _But he recognised a map when he saw one, even one crudely drawn in sand. "This is this island," he observed as two lines meeting at a point were drawn, signifying the mountain, and the black head beside him bobbed enthusiastically. "We're here." He prodded a finger into the coast, suddenly realising the map had even been drawn properly oriented.

There was a chuff, and then he was abruptly feeling much more awake as the dragon sank a claw into the sand off the coast of the map. And again, and again, over and over. Ten dots, four on one side and six on the other. "This is to scale?" Another chuff.

As if that wasn't bad enough, he then drew short lines from the dots towards the one Stoick had made. "Everybody up," Stoick shouted, jumping to his feet and brushing himself off; in the process he happened to note a lack of scar on the Fury's back, so this was Hiccup. A chorus of bleary groans and discontented muttering broke out around him. "The Berserkers have found us."

_That _got everyone moving, scrambling to their feet and drawing weapons. Dagur was awake too, looking confused, but Hiccup got Stoick's attention with a short bark and swung his head from side to side. _"Not _the Berserkers?" He shook his head again. "Who, then?" It was a pointless question, and Stoick knew it, not even waiting for an answer before lighting the torch from the fire and then filling the fire pit with sand.

He could no longer see the map Hiccup had drawn, but it was fresh in his memory. All but surrounded, unless they wanted to sail back the way they had come, and even then it would be close. Not just a passing fleet, not approaching from two directions like that.

Two possibilities. One, that it was a trap closing around them, though that seemed unlikely as what other tribe could have learned of the attack and prepared this in time? Two, that it was a dispute between two other tribes to be settled in blood, but the chances of stumbling into such a thing…

It didn't matter. Whoever they were, they would be trouble for a Chief escorting another Chief in chains, and even if they weren't hostile he'd be lucky if they didn't pillage the ship just because it was there; nobody would ever know.

"Chief, orders?"

"We head inland," Stoick responded, striding towards the forest and noting that Dagur was now secured between two warriors. "We don't get involved and hope it blows past us."

"An' when they burn our boat an' leave us stranded?" one of the voices behind him asked dispassionately.

"Then the Furies go back and get help," Stoick answered, instantly connecting need and solution. He wasn't about to admit he was glad they'd come, but it was certainly proving to be convenient.

The grumbling behind him turned speculative and unconcerned as they trekked through the trees towards the mountain.

* * *

Dreamer eventually grew tired of watching the Vikings blunder through the dark forest, tripping over every thorny shrub and stumbling down every bank, and left them to their own devices. If they were too stubborn to accept help finding a path then they could just deal with scratches, and it would hardly be difficult to find them again.

He trotted after Wanderer to a clearing and leaped up through the hole in the canopy, wings quietly cutting through the air to lift them into the sky, then angled back to the beach. There was no chance of being spotted in this low light, even with his superior vision he'd nearly missed the dark boats on the water.

And dark they were, hulls made from a dark wood indicative of Outcast shipbuilding, but also sporting dark sails that blended neatly into the night. This must be how they got around so much without being noticed. He'd definitely be keeping an eye out for them in future.

Some of the boats had already made land, but a few hung back a short way out to sea; it was difficult to stop himself from fantasising about having his fire. The two groups of ships had mixed and merged, extinguishing the small chance they were two different factions, and the Hooligan vessel had already been boarded and likely stripped of its stores.

Although, the men on board didn't seem in any sort of hurry, and didn't carry anything off when they eventually disembarked. Not that there was any risk of the ship suddenly departing anyway, not with the ones still out at sea waiting to intercept.

Dreamer didn't like this, everything about it screamed trap. He couldn't pick Alvin out from the dozens of thugs swarming over the beach as they lit torches and formed into groups, but it seemed likely he was there. Either that or someone else was now leading the Outcasts.

No, he had to assume it was Alvin, and that he was therefore after the Nightstrikers. He couldn't possibly know they were there, but he always seemed to know things he should not.

Dreamer growled, and Wanderer echoed him. These Outcasts would fiercely regret trying to hunt a Nightstriker.

But none of them would die, not unless necessary. He met Wanderer's eyes, the bigger dragon giving him a significant look back; he clearly wanted to tear the lot limb from limb, but would restrain himself to crippling blows at most. Alvin might be an exception if they found him, but if he was _still _hunting them now then that might just be necessary; being broken and defeated could be considered a death, of sorts, as it certainly wasn't life.

They circled the beach, unseen and unnoticed, until all those who were entering the forests had entered. About a dozen Outcasts with torches led groups of four or five, holding the lights high and creating curious glowing patches that wandered through the trees. Dreamer snorted, and he and Wanderer both angled to the nearest clearing together. This was almost going to be _too _easy.

* * *

Thalrock didn't like this forest. It was too dark, even with the torch held high into the air above them, its orange light failing to penetrate between the trees. It was the best way to cast the light in all directions, but it created eerie shadows everywhere, and there was a tension in his shoulders he could not relax.

His name wasn't really Thalrock, not any more. It had been once, long ago, but it had been stripped from him when he'd been picked up from the dingy raft he'd been left to drift on and taken to see the Boss. He still had his name, but hadn't as much as spoken it aloud in years.

He didn't mind it that way. Fame and glory were for chumps, and this was a much simpler life. Be in the right place in the right time and he could do whatever he wanted.

Unfortunately, he'd been in the wrong place at the right time for this particular job, which initially seemed fine as they were hilariously overmanned to take down a single boat, but he didn't feel so confident now. It was as if the forest itself was watching him, waiting…

He nervously stroked the arrow nocked in his bow. Whatever came charging from the forest, be it Viking or monster, it would quickly find itself with an arrow in its face, and then beset upon with axes and swords. He was at the back, so he would be the last to be eaten in such an event. He'd intentionally picked a group with overeager fodder, without his years of experience to know there would be little fun to be had in this job.

But, because he was the only one behind the torchbearer, he was probably the only one to notice the night itself reach down from a tree and eat the flame, revealing two rows of wicked teeth and evil green eyes in the instant before the world was plunged into darkness.

His arrow flew blindly, too many shouts of alarm and panic to hear if it had hit or sailed off into the trees. The night was not quite pitch-black, but in the moments after losing their light source they were totally blind.

Thalrock hastily slung his bow over his shoulder and drew his sword, but before it was even out of its scabbard something collided with his legs and sent him to the ground. He could hear it now, racing through their midst with demonic speed and inhuman strength, every pass eliciting pained grunts and surprised shouts. One of those sounds was his own, as searing pain erupted down his leg while he tried to rise, too slow with his sword to hit anything. The sword then clattered to the ground as a brief pressure around his arm left it _blindingly _painful.

Outcasts lived in darkness, but this was something else entirely, an oppressive blackness with teeth and claws. Had his breath not been locked in his throat, Thalrock might be joining in the increasingly panicked sounds rising around him. There was no question about it, they were all going to die.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the assault ceased. He scrambled back to a sitting position, making himself dizzy in gasping for breath and pointing his dagger at the shadowy lumps around him, jumping at the slightest sounds. He hastily shuffled back into a tree, eyes slowly readjusting and listening for where the demon might have gone.

There was a crashing through the forest, heading towards him, but it was the slow and blunderous advance of humans, the faint glow warding off the darkness as they neared. There were shouts, but he could barely comprehend them and had lost the ability to answer.

He realised, as the torches neared to bring blessed light back to the world, that nobody else was moving. He alone had been spared the night's fury.

There were suddenly people around him, shouting at him, waving weapons in his face, but it was all just noise. He stared, unable to make a sound, because while they were all looking down at him he was watching _two _tendrils of darkness reach down from the branches of the tree to extinguish the two torches that had just joined him.

Then horrific darkness was once again clamped to his face, and the nightmare began anew.

* * *

Feeling jubilant in their success, Wanderer bouncily trotted around the rough circle of bodies. Sleeping only, of course, except for the one still whimpering at the base of a tree; they were no threat to Nightstrikers, not like this, and Dreamer felt strongly about letting them live. He approached Dreamer, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What you doing?"

"Small hurt, not worry," Dreamer grumbled as he licked at his shoulder. He allowed Wanderer to briefly treat it, revealing a short cut that had barely made it through the scales, before standing and trotting off through the trees.

They moved swiftly, quickly locating their next quarry, a group of six sharp-tooth Long-Paws with another flame held over their heads and all looking down at the ground. Wanderer silently snorted. As if Nightstrikers would be careless enough to leave tracks while fleeing a threat.

But they were not fleeing. They were hunting their hunters, teaching them to fear Nightstrikers as they should, to spread their fear to other Long-Paws so that at the first audible note of his sound-sight they would flee into their dens and hide until the sky-fire kindled. His claws _ached _to start the learning process.

Wanderer found himself better positioned this time, the tree he had climbed being closer to the aimless path the Long-Paws took. He crept out along a branch, totally invisible to the practically blind creatures below, then carefully lowered himself by his tail and hindlegs to close his mouth around the fire as it passed under him.

The moment of panic as the group was thrust into darkness would be forever amusing to watch, though he did so while quickly lifting himself back out of reach. They floundered about in the dark, drawing weapons and bumping into each other, unable to understand what had happened.

With a mischievous grin, Wanderer bounced heavily on the branch over the group. They initially jumped and exclaimed at the noise, then reacted wildly as they were assaulted by chips of bark dislodged by his claws. Their long claws frantically flailed around, clashing into each other and biting into flesh, so wildly that Dreamer aborted his attack and backed up behind a tree.

It took some time for them to realise they were only attacking each other, by which point two of them had been incapacitated, leaving four more. It was tempting to rain more gnarly bark down on them, see how many he could down by their own pack, but Dreamer was already racing through their midst, bringing the next victim to the ground and slashing its leg.

Perhaps not quite as entertaining to watch, but there _was _the aching in his claws to acknowledge. Wanderer leaped down onto the nearest Long-Paw, which was unsurprisingly off-balance – what with having only two legs and no tail – and therefore crumpled beneath him. Quick strikes with his wings brought the other two to the ground where his tail lashed out and knocked their claws from their paws.

The one under him was making increasingly shrill noises as claws slowly sank into its back and neck. It jerkily brought its forelegs around to try to rise, but a firm strike to slam its head into the ground made it go limp.

"That risky," Dreamer grumbled as he trotted over, slashing legs as he went.

"I good fighter," Wanderer shot back, offended; as if any of these clumsy Long-Paws could have landed a strike on him in these conditions.

Dreamer just finished his careful rounds of ensuring these Long-Paws would not be hunting anything for sky-fire-cycles, then pricked his ears and looked around himself. "No more?"

"Hrrr, there more, this only five packs down."

"I think we can call them here now. Take more down as they come." He then roared to the sky, loudly enough that all on the small-land would hear. Anyone hunting Nightstrikers would now know exactly where to go.

Wanderer stepped off the Long-Paw and dragged his claws through the dirt to roughly clean them. "Why not fly? Can see fire easily."

Dreamer momentarily froze. "That good thinking also," he muttered, then glanced around again. "They still not come. Yes, we fly."

They trotted, to conserve energy, to the nearest clearing and leaped up into the air, letting the breeze lift them into the sky. They could easily see the remaining fires and therefore groups of ill-intending Long-Paws, two deep into the forest and… a big patch of glowing forest towards the mountain. It was difficult to tell how many because they were so close together.

That made the two isolated fires much more sensible targets. "These Long-Paws bad hunters," Wanderer mused as they angled towards them. "Never catch Nightstriker hunting like this."

He looked up at a startled, strangled bark, in time to see Dreamer sharply bank away. He angled after him with an enquiring bark, straining to catch up. "They not hunting us!" Dreamer shouted back.

…Which meant they were here for one of the Long-Paw alphas, or both. Wanderer growled; whatever they wanted it would be very bad to let them get it.

They were above the glow in moments, eyeing the flickering lights through the branches. The sharp-teeth-Long-Paws were moving much faster than Dreamer's sire's group, stumbling over themselves as they had been, and even a hatchling could have followed their tracks once they'd reached the more treacherous slope of the mountain. They were also quite tightly grouped, and there were far too many fires for the two of them to quench without being seen.

They kept flying up to the light a little further ahead, where Dreamer dove straight through the canopy, crashing through branches and eliciting startled Long-Paw shouts from below. Wanderer expertly nudged the air to avoid all but a few scraggly branches for his descent, snapping his wings out into a hard landing in front of the considerably less loathsome Long-Paws.

None of them could understand the Nightstrikers' words, however, and Dreamer did not try to talk to them. He tugged at his sire's not-skins and tried again to lead them through the darkness, with slightly more success, but both stubbornness and a lack of good vision combined with too many people for only one flame made for agonisingly slow progress regardless.

Although, Wanderer did have to acknowledge the captive alpha's ability to press forward, even with his paws bound he was probably the least encumbered by the jagged slope and his poor eyesight. They all seemed to understand urgency, but they were simply unable to move fast enough to match the pace of their pursuers.

Wanderer heard it before they reached it, a more open area ahead of them. They were quite a way up the mountain already, but he hadn't realised how far until they emerged onto rock that formed a clearing overlooking the sea.

_"This looks – good place," _Dreamer's sire announced as he strode out onto the somewhat uneven rock. There was a bit of an argument with some pointing out towards the distant water, but… _They think they fight here…? _Wanderer looked around sceptically, it was exposed and open but that might be preferable with fewer numbers…

There wasn't much of a choice. They were here.

_"Well, you – us on – chase, Stoick. Not very Viking like." _

Wanderer snarled at the despicable voice, even as Dreamer's sire spoke back. For once, however, the greedy Long-Paw, with his false paw that ended in a single long claw, scarred head, and now also a false leg, paid little to no attention to the Nightstrikers.

Without warning, while they were still talking, something whistled from the trees and into the distance behind them. Wanderer and Dreamer were already darting aside – there was a frantic edge to Dreamer's expression – but it wasn't aimed for either of them.

A second flying-Long-Paw-claw hissed through the air, caught by the captive alpha claw-lengths from his chest. Wanderer stared at him incredulously as he inspected the spindly claw with a frown. An uneasy silence settled over both sides of the confrontation.

_"…Why?" _There was a strange edge to Dreamer's sire's question as he strode in front of the other alpha, protecting him behind his massive body. He wanted to know, but it sounded… not defeated, but accepting.

The greedy Long-Paw just grinned, then spoke quietly to his pack, but Wanderer shook his head and focused on what he _could _understand. They were at a disadvantage, there were many more of the bad pack than nest-kin, and many held those strange bent sticks that threw deadly claws. In a fair fight he would expect Dreamer's sire to handle the lot of them, but this would not be a fair fight.

They were no threat to Nightstrikers, however. Wanderer would be fairly confident charging in himself, attacking those at the edges, but even if Dreamer was experienced enough to fight multiple attackers who could actually see, they would not be fast enough to save the others.

He met Dreamer's gaze sadly. He could see no way to save his sire or the ones with him.

But Dreamer's gaze spoke of an idea. And Dreamer's ideas… Why did he get the feeling this would be of the 'recklessly dangerous' kind?

He could only stare as Dreamer tackled the captive alpha and pulled him to the ground by his bound paws. They landed on their sides, Dreamer hunched and visibly straining with something, until there was a snapping sound.

All eyes were on the bound alpha as he rose… and spread his paws to either side with a rising laugh.

_"Fire!" _

Before Wanderer had a chance to wonder at the relevance of the fear-laden cry of the greedy Long-Paw, the not-bound alpha ducked low to the ground and surged forwards. Wanderer gaped at the sheer speed and strength, easily dodging the claws whipping through the air – no, one was protruding from his shoulder, but he didn't seem to notice.

Wanderer had wondered if this had really been the Long-Paw to trap and hunt Dreamer for so long, who had instilled so much fear in a Nightstriker, even a young one, or if Dreamer had simply been sensitive to the experience. But the way he moved now, low to the ground, with the stability of a deep-rooted tree and the speed of a Nightstriker, was _nothing _like when Wanderer had fought him.

The first crunching of bones and pained screams snapped Wanderer from his stupor, and he leaped into the suddenly confused fray himself, closely followed by Dreamer and the other Long-Paws. Wanderer did not pull his strikes, singling out those he could see with curved sticks and dealing debilitating injuries, uncaring if they were fatal or not; this was no time to be overconfident, there were still pawfuls of enemies for every ally.

One particular Long-Paw, pulling a long claw from the chest of a Long-Paw nest-kin, caught Wanderer's attention. A snarl crackled from his throat as he advanced, all but ignoring the combat raging around him.

The greedy Long-Paw noticed him stalking forwards. _"I learned – things from – books I –," _he said confidently, _"– you- – as strong as your weak-!" _

Wanderer would show him who was stronger. He bounded forwards, darting from side to side to confuse his opponent, then leaped with claws outstretched to open its belly. When his prey stepped to the side to avoid the attack, Wanderer blocked the long claw with a wing.

_"Hard but – wings," _the Long-Paw chirped, flicking the long claw across the sensitive trailing edge of the wing. Wanderer hissed in pain, it could barely be called an injury but it stung fiercely.

_"Sensitive hearing," _the same new word, Wanderer inferring its meaning as the Long-Paw snatched up the broad claw of its last victim and slammed the flat of it against the ground. The sudden shrill ringing caught him off-guard, distorting his vision, and while he dodged the claw slicing at his neck he could not dodge the thick tree-leg that had replaced the one Dreamer had broken. It caught him in the side of the head, further dazing him and sending him stumbling back.

_No, _Wanderer _refused _to be beaten in this fight! He baited it away from the other combatants so he wouldn't have to worry about those around him, all the while fending off mind-numbing noise and the long, sharp claw that protruded directly from where he'd bitten off the paw. _Grrr, _it was as if the more limbs a Long-Paw lost, the better fighters they became. They were such backwards creatures.

Exposing their fight to the open had an unexpected advantage, which came in the form of Dreamer sprinting in and clipping the Long-Paw with his shoulder, staggering him, before darting back and disappearing into the darkness. Wanderer used the moment's reprieve to reposition around him, then kept on the offensive to force him back.

When the greedy Long-Paw realised he was being backed up to the cliff, it threw the broad claw to the ground where it clattered loudly and halted Wanderer's offensive momentum. Then they were fighting in earnest, their claws blocked by the Long-Paw's mysteriously hard wrist and Wanderer's wings.

But Wanderer was starting to flag. He had been fighting much already, pushing every muscle in his body to move at the perfect angles, while his opponent was not.

He did not want to risk it, not with this one… but he had to trust. "Dreamer!" he barked.

And then they were fighting together, the assault of wings and claws hilariously outmatching the single long claw and rapidly forcing the vile thing back to the cliff.

_"Enough!" _the Long-Paw shouted, recklessly swinging the claw in a wide arc and forcing them both back again. _"You- mine! – I- get you later, just let me kill this – Chief!" _

A broad claw spun through the air, almost taking the Long-Paw in the chest but catching the wildly slashing long claw instead and knocking it aside. Dreamer immediately leaped and lashed out, claws biting deep into its face, and Wanderer bulled forward, carrying it right off the cliff to fall to the distant water below.

They both groaned in relief, turning to the rest of the battle, which appeared to be just finishing up. Wanderer glanced over to where the broad claw had come from, finding only the not-bound alpha standing over what was left of a body. _"You- welcome," _he said flatly.

That got him the attention of all the other Long-Paws, turning to face him with claws raised; he no longer had one of his own. It didn't seem to bother him, as he started cackling gleefully with a frantic edge.

_"Dagur, this -not change anything," _the giant Long-Paw alpha growled, walking towards him. Wanderer also slipped around the edges of the light to block his potential escape into the trees. _"You- still our –." _

_"I -not _think _so," _the much smaller alpha growled dangerously. _"I think I- kill you, then –" _Lots of words Wanderer didn't recognise, but understood to mean to kill everyone and somehow leave. It wasn't going to happen.

The bad alpha laughed again as Dreamer's sire tossed away his broad claw, then dropped and sped forward with that same astonishing speed, as if he had not already been fighting pawfuls of Long-Paws. His balled paw connected with the big alpha's belly with a loud _thump, _the rippling flesh and forced step back testament to the sheer force of the impact.

But as impressive as it was, it was _nothing _compared to the retaliation, a rising strike delivered with equally astonishing speed that knocked the Long-Paw into the air and back well over a full body-length. He landed on his back, wheezing, then laughed like a strangled Long-Paw hatchling.

Wanderer breathed a sigh of relief and took a moment to assess everything else while the fallen alpha was being secured again. Dreamer was looking around as well, the heartbreak visible in his expression – of the nine nest-kin that had started on this journey, only five remained. Fire sticks burned on the ground, almost mocking in that there were now more of them than people to carry them.

"What they doing now?" he asked Dreamer as the few remaining nest-kin spread out into the trees, attempting to take his mind off things.

"Build big fire for burn dead," Dreamer replied sullenly.

_Wuff, _that backfired badly. Wanderer decided to stay silent, watching everything unfold. Dreamer's sire coordinated everything, but always remained closest to the bad alpha. He moved and spoke with a stiffness that went to prove just how hard he'd been hit, now barely keeping up appearances, but even that in itself was impressive. There was a reason Wanderer had targeted him so often, if indirectly, back when he had helped raid the Long-Paw nest.

Although, his expression matched Dreamer's, sadly and sullenly watching the others break apart and stack trees on a flat section of rock, and there was that same heartbreak in his voice. Wanderer looked between Dreamer and his sire, understanding kindling in his mind.

It was a short ceremony, the group lighting the fires and only staying long enough to briefly speak to the burning bodies before starting the trek back down the mountain.

* * *

What would his own dragon be like, Stoick wondered as he traipsed through the forest, making much better time on the way back to the boat.

He turned the idea over in his head. Spitelout had been crowing on about the benefits of a dragon for some time, and the results were undeniable even as simply a beast of transport. But a Chief's dragon needed to be something more, something stronger and better than a common dragon, something unique, to showcase his power and authority.

Normally he would be more wary of his surroundings, but it felt safe to let his thoughts drift. He knew one of the Furies, Hiccup, was scouting ahead, while Toothy kept an unnervingly close eye on Dagur, so it was with a grunt of surprise he spotted the beach through the trees. The Outcasts would have been smart to leave a group in the darkness to ambush them if they somehow managed to evade the search party, it's what he himself would have done.

That _was _what they'd done, it was quickly evident. They just hadn't counted on a Night Fury finding them first, as the roughly twenty or so men lay clutching bleeding legs, groaning as they tried to rise, or were just plain unmoving. The Night Fury himself was jumping around in the surf, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

The two dragons had a conversation in their strange language, gesturing out to sea, and then Hiccup took off and disappeared into the night. Toothy waited until Dagur was secured below deck, some further restraints added to the bowstrings they'd used to lash the manacles back together, before vanishing himself.

Stoick would much rather know what was going on, he was the _Chief _for Thor's sake, but the Furies couldn't tell him so he could only trust in them. He made a mental note to get a few more people learning the language for these situations.

The night wind was still blowing, carrying the rain that would be on their heels with the day, which meant their weary and under-manned crew would not need to row. None of the supplies were missing, though the Outcasts had probably intended to take the whole boat so that perhaps wasn't so strange. After the tense fight on the mountain, this seemed far too easy.

As they started heading out to sea, angling around the island, the Furies landed on the deck and both put their paws on the rail, looking in the same direction out over the water. There was something out there… Had all ten ships been on the beach? Stoick silently cursed himself for not counting. There wasn't much he could do about it either way, and the Furies weren't worried…

A dull wooden sound came from over the water, followed by a splash, and both Furies abruptly burst out laughing. Stoick assumed it was laughter, anyway, a low heaving sound with their tails thrashing behind them. They ran to the other side of the boat, nearly tripping one of the crew, and leaned over the rail to continue laughing at another crash and surprised shout.

Right… Well, whatever was going on, they seemed to have it in hand. Paw. Whatever.

Giving the silhouette of the island a wide berth, Stoick guided the boat back on course. The Furies eventually curled up in the crook the of the prow, just as daylight began to break over the horizon. After everything, Stoick couldn't really persist in demanding they fly back to Berk, he still wasn't happy they were here but they _had _just saved… Dagur's life?

When there was enough light to navigate by, Stoick announced he was turning in and left the till for another to claim, descending down into the hold. He approached Dagur's cell, a box of iron bars fitted to the ship with one side curtained off for privacy; mostly because nobody would be able to sleep with him watching them. Dagur himself was back to staring listlessly, had been since their trade of blows.

"Why?" Stoick asked him.

"Gonna have to be more specific there old man," Dagur replied flippantly.

Stoick glared down at him before responding. "Why did he want to kill you?" It was the same man who had kidnapped the Furies, _twice _apparently, but while his motives there were uncertain there seemed to be no logic behind this attack.

"Hel if I know," was the infuriating reply. "But at least _someone _wants to!" He glared at Stoick, looking angry and betrayed; death would have been far more honourable than what was in store for him, certainly.

But Stoick was done for the day, though it had only just started; he'd already been awake far too long to think on the levels required for any of this, and someone would get him if it was urgent. He left Dagur and stretched out on the wooden bunk affixed to the wall, almost instantly claimed by sleep.

* * *

It was time. Everything was prepared. All that was left was to follow through with it and hope for the best.

Somehow, the island was ominous, but did not feel outright dangerous; as if it were not home to the tribe that had recently sent a solid third of the Hooligans to Valhalla. No, Stoick felt as if that danger was standing behind him, further wrapped up in ropes to bind his forearms and legs together and prevent any chance of escape; Stoick did not anticipate such an attempt, given how dishonourable it would be, but he wasn't ruling anything out.

A congregation was gathered on the dock, four people standing tall in the early afternoon light. There used to be twelve docks, one for each Berserker clan, but apparently Dagur had all but one burned to regulate the fleet. Someone had apparently decided to start reconstructing them, but they weren't finished yet.

"Ho there Hooligan vessel," a man called out haughtily while the boat was still pulling up to the pier, a dry and dangerous edge to his voice. "Here to take your revenge after killing our Chief?"

"I have done no such thing," Stoick called over to them.

"Lies!" an elderly woman barked. "We have already heard the truth!"

Stoick could only stare in confusion. Was the entire tribe possessed with insanity? "Then who do I have here?" He reached back and grabbed Dagur by the collar, holding him aloft, and for a time everyone stared at each other in silence, right up until the boat bumped against the pier.

Intense muttering broke out between the Berserker elders, faced with irrefutable proof as they were. Of everything Stoick had been expecting, they thought Dagur was already dead?

"What are your demands?" the first man asked suddenly.

"No demands-"

"Then _why _is there an army of dragons above my village!?"

Stoick looked up at the dozen or so dragons wheeling overhead, most notably the impressive form of Snotlout's Monstrous Nightmare; they really must get more of those. "No demands," Stoick repeated, "just a question." He hefted Dagur again, somewhat wishing he could see his expression. "Your Chief attacked my village with a dragon, specifically a Skrill. He also brought several Gronckles," only to slaughter them himself, probably as a show of force, "and killed a number of my warriors in addition to doing a lot of damage.

"My question is this." He shoved Dagur back behind him, then gestured to the sky. "Is it acceptable for one tribe to attack another using dragons?"

His question was initially met with silence.

"We are a tribe of _dragon slayers," _the second of the three men scoffed after a time. "We do not fear your dragons."

"Used to slaying wild dragons, perhaps, not a coordinated strategic attack." He squinted into the sky, shielding his eyes against the sun. "Tell me, did you ever kill a Night Fury? One who was attacking you?"

"They have no fire-"

"They _had _no fire. They have grown considerably since then." An outright bluff, but they couldn't know that, and the pair were flying low enough that it was evident they'd more than doubled in size since last year.

They were not convinced yet, but he was getting through. "It is not a difficult question," he growled. "Do you denounce your insane Chief so that he can rot in a cell, or do I burn your island to the ground?" For emphasis, he held up a fist, as if signalling archers to ready bows.

They were stubborn, refusing to give up on their Chief, but also couldn't authorise an attack on themselves. Stoick didn't want to order the attack, but everyone was prepared, just in case…

He inhaled quietly as a sound rose over the sloshing of the water and distant bustle of the village, a very distinct sound that, not long ago, every Viking in the Archipelago had quickly learned to fear. An unholy screech, as if Hel herself were being dragged across the sky to rain destruction down on the unfortunate target.

"Well?" Stoick demanded over the rising wail, no longer entirely certain in the moment that the Furies couldn't level the place here and now. "Your Chief or your tribe? Choose!"

There were shouts from the village now, confusion and panic rampant as they pointed weapons aimlessly at the sky; clever Fury was in front of the sun, as invisible as in the darkest night.

"We already thought he was dead," the woman said hurriedly, struggling to maintain her pompous attitude. "It will make little difference now."

Stoick lowered his arm, and the wailing died off; that was something even he had never heard before, and it was disconcerting to say the least. "No objections?" He asked the three men with her, who glared but remained silent. "Excellent. Shall we write it up? We have many decades of oppressive peace treaties to catch up on…"

He was quickly given hospitality, and messengers were sent for the other heads of clan. As he walked through the village he noted the dragons above retreating a short distance to land on sea stacks, available if needed but not tiring themselves out.

He learned quite a lot in the hours he spent there, even though most of them were spent in a dark hall, isolated from the rest of the village. The clans had divided into factions, the four who had greeted him were heads of the clans that controlled the current docks and therefore the entire fleet, though if the others could finish rebuilding theirs that was likely to change. There would be fighting over ships, and there was already fighting over farm plots and treasuries.

During a break from the pointless fussing over wording – dozens of edits, usually with no explanation, or just because it 'sounded better' – Stoick was resting his eyes when there was a firm knock on the door; actually, that was timid by Berserker standards. "What is it?" he asked wearily.

A lean woman entered the room with raven-black hair and sharp features. The musculature of her arms suggested she favoured a bow, and she was devoid of visible scars. "Chief Stoick," she greeted him confidently. "My name is Vella. I would speak with you."

"Mm, please, take a seat," Stoick sighed, gesturing to the table with one hand and rubbing his head with the other. "Forgive me, these matters are always tiresome." She nodded as she took a seat, sitting rigidly. Did she not know how to relax or something? "Don't worry, I don't bite," he reassured her.

She raised an eyebrow at him, remaining stiff. "I am Dagur's aide," she stated, then apparently caught his sympathetic wince. "Oh, he has his quirks but he's not so bad."

"I have a Night Fury who tells me otherwise," Stoick growled back. "Didn't know that, did you? That they can talk?" He huffed a laugh at her incredulous expression. "No, not like we do. They have their own language. Something about body movements… I don't understand it myself. But those dragons are smarter than I am." She looked pensive at that. "You don't seem to need much convincing. Should I be offended?"

"No, no," she said hurriedly. "Just, I think it learned as much from us as we did from it. And we never did work out how it got away. Dagur thinks magic."

Stoick shook his head. "Not any that I've seen." He certainly _hoped _not, the scared mob was all too easy to imagine. "Just a clever mind. Be wary of attracting their attention again. They're growing fast, and I'd rather not find out what damage two Night Furies could do if they actually tried." It was well known that Night Furies only attacked defences during a raid; that was the only reason any of the tribes were still standing. "Your mad Chief has a lot to answer for."

Vella winced. "It's not his fault, and he's not mad, it's… No, I shouldn't say. Even now." She took a long breath. "I came to ask what would become of him."

"Why?"

For the first time during their talk, she looked uncomfortable. "I'm responsible for him, in a way. I helped keep him focused on the tribe… He got a bit distracted with your dragons, but it seemed harmless enough." She wilted under Stoick's gaze. "I had thought so, anyway."

Stoick sighed. "I gave him back once, but he blew his chance, and we have no need for ransom. We have never seen eye-to-eye with the Lava Louts, but their slave mines are a fitting hole to rot in. It's the only place I trust to hold him." Executing him over what he'd done as Chief would set the two tribes to war, and he wasn't handing him back to the Berserkers and trusting them to do it. Slavery was not a practise Stoick agreed with, but he'd thought long and hard on it, and this was the only way he could bury the worry churning in his gut.

Vella stared off to the side with a pained grimace. "Clever. Even if we _could _unite again, I doubt we could take Lava Lout Island. That place is a death trap."

"That it is."

She bowed her head, only slightly. "Thank you for your time," she said curtly as she stood, then strode out of the room.

* * *

There was no point in counting. Attempting to keep track of the repetitive and admittedly easy motions was folly, such refinement of the body had no beginning and no end. One might as well be counting their breaths.

Dagur also had no desire for any idea how long he had been in this _infuriating _boat. The same four walls, the same bars, the same water against the same hull, it was all the SAME! _Nothing _changed! Nothing, except his constant honing of his body, every flex of his arms to pull him from the floor granting him a tiny mote more strength.

Yes, focus on that. To lose control here, now, would mean actual insanity, or more likely a pointless and disgraceful death.

At least he had got to kill some Outcasts. He was pretty sure they were Outcasts, with their sharp teeth, though it didn't bother him either way. He'd been set upon multiple armed foes with his bare hands, and their skulls had caved to his fists, necks snapped in his grip, and chests caved under his heel. _He _was the superior warrior.

He paused in his repetitive task, hands gripping the thick bars at waist level and holding his feet a full palm off the ground. His gut _still _didn't feel right, had that strike been even slightly higher or lower it probably would have broken something irreparably. It was actually pretty close to hurting, which was amusing.

But Stoick _wasn't _a superior warrior. Sure, he was physically stronger – Dagur didn't notice himself taking up his repetitive lifting again – but lacked the _determination, _the _dominance _of a true warrior.

Anyway, Dagur himself was only twenty, there was plenty of time to catch up in raw muscle.

The hatch opened and someone descended. He couldn't see the hatch with the blind covering one side of the cell, but it was clearly Stoick. The big man lumbered into view, then took a key to the heavy padlock. "Your stop," was the only thing he said.

"Oooh, where to now?" Dagur asked with interest. "I can't wait!" _Anything _was better than this stupid boat. Although, being totally bound by ropes and held at a sword's point for those old geezers to laugh at him was very, _very _close to-

No, can't lose it here. He was an invincible warrior, not just a mindless tool of violence.

So he allowed himself to be led out of the boat, then squinted into the harsh light of day. Not that he was given time to adjust, dragged blindly across the deck while he struggled to see where he was.

But this particular smell of rock, and the gruff, condescending accents, spoke for themselves. "All that, just to sell me? Stoick, I'm hurt."

"Chief Stoick," droned an unnaturally deep voice. "What business have you here? You'll find me a lot more difficult to kill than the mad Berserker Chief, if you've come to settle our rivalry."

"Hey, I take offense to that!" Dagur shouted back at him.

"…Chief Boulguhr," Stoick greeted politely. "As you can see... the rumours are unfounded."

"So I do see," Boulguhr said, his bass monotone impossible to read. Dagur was now just about able to make out his wiry black beard, and the helmet with thick, impressive horns. "So then, what do you plan now? Going to war with us as well as the Berserkers? You cannot sell us a Chief, even were you such a man to sell another."

"He is no Chief," Stoick replied plainly, handing the Lava Lout Chief a rolled parchment to inspect. "And for this one, I make an exception."

"...This changes matters." At a brief motion, Dagur was hauled from the boat and whisked away by big, burly men in dragon skin cloaks. They took him to a shed, where they swiftly cut off the bodged manacles and attached much heavier ones to his wrists and ankles. While he could have probably broken the old ones, at great injury to himself, he would break himself before these new ones so much as bent.

One of his captors got careless, and his control was already at its limit. They had reached for the chain linking the bands around his wrists. The chain almost seemed to wrap itself around the man's wrist, and was then pulled taught. Not productive in the slightest, but it made him feel a bit better.

A loud snapping sound in front of him, and another one behind him. Dagur frowned, confused, and turned to see another man with a whip in his hand and looking thoroughly unnerved. He had that effect on people sometimes, and shrugged it off.

More men were called, and with someone on either side of him, he was carried along by his biceps. He could get used to this sort of treatment; walking was dull, particularly when manacled, and this was a pleasant strain on his arms. He took a moment to appreciate the divide down the island, one half a bleak wasteland of rock, only the occasional low structure breaking the view of slave drivers and depression, and the other half a bright green paradise with a wealthy village hidden somewhere in the middle.

He spotted the two Chiefs leaning over a table, looking over what looked like various parchments. "How much Stoick!? How much did you get for me?"

Stoick raised his head to look at him. "Nothing," he replied with a simple honesty, then went back to the documents.

Dagur didn't know what to do with that. What did that make him? Invaluable? He idly noticed the guards around him becoming more and more disconcerted, particularly when there were a few more loud snapping sounds right behind him.

They carried him over the signature bulbous ground of cooled magma flows, eventually dropping him into a dark pit. He landed on his feet, then inspected the supplies and tools littered around the rough tunnel.

"Yeh dig fer yer dinner," a voice above him drawled. "Th'more ores ya bring, th'more ya eat." A metal grate then slammed down, and he was suddenly alone.

He picked up the pickaxe leaning against the wall. "Got anything heavier?" he shouted up, but there was no reply. Well, there was a bit of weight to it at least… nearly as much as his axe. Every swing would grant him a little more strength. It would serve.

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_Both antagonists taken out in a single chapter! Don't worry, there is absolutely no way Alvin is coming back from that (readers of the books know what I mean)._


	34. Balance

**_Author's Notes_**

_Wow, what a state the world has found itself in since I last posted. Hopefully this at least serves to lighten everyone's day =)_

_I'd also like to thank _Fizzlemcschnizzle_ for checking this one over for me, I'm beta reading his new story Point of View which is hilarious and you should go read it._

* * *

Stoick waited patiently, his fingers laced in front of him and his elbows resting on the stone table. Six other Chiefs sat around the same table, a large stone ring with a fire crackling in the centre that lit the room in a warm flickering glow.

He'd taken the liberty of rearranging the seats a little, knowing the Berserkers would not be present. They had not been invited to this particular Thing, and it seemed unlikely they would decide on a single leader any time soon; that was fine by Stoick's book, all the better if they fought among themselves instead of raiding everyone else.

The table was carefully crafted to a size that no Chief could reach another, provided both remained seated. Today, Stoick required a little more room than that, room taken from the fallen tribe. It was fitting, really.

With a loud crash, the main doors flew open, and each struck the walls with another crash. "Aigh' you lo'," Mogadon bellowed as he stomped inside, "le's ge'…"

The other Chiefs all turned to face him as he trailed off.

Vikings politics were fairly simple in principle – volume and impression directly translated to influence. Slamming the doors open made a much better impression than sitting at a table, so the last Chief to arrive – without stretching patience by being late – always made the best impression, while the first to arrive could impress nobody.

Normally, that was the case. Stoick had arrived early to be the first, and every single other Chief had done exactly the same as Mogadon had, because Stoick was making a far better impression by sitting calmly simply by virtue of doing so between the two Night Furies lounging on the table.

Thus rearranging the chairs, creating the extra room required that the other chiefs could not reach the dragons. Not that Stoick had any illusions that they could, even were they in striking distance, he knew what a relaxed Fury looked like and it was not like this; paws planted on the table, subtly ready to leap away, tails swaying and flexing instead of hanging limply, ears twitching at nothing.

Mogadon groaned under his breath and stomped up to take his seat. Like the other Chiefs, he still hefted the heavy high-backed chair from the table as a show of strength before settling into it, and his two guards took up positions behind him. He had done himself no favours with his timing, as the only remaining seat was the one next to Hiccup.

It was a delicate game Stoick played. He had to show strength and influence, but not _too_ much lest the other Chiefs feel threatened, and nor could he show any weakness. Normally it was a ridiculous farce, no Chief wanted to be Chief of anything beyond their own waters for the logistic nightmare it would cause, but theoretically dragons could circumvent that problem.

"Well then," Bertha, the Chief of the Bog Burglars, announced, "now that we're all here I think I speak for everyone in demanding we get to the point o' this Thing." She was probably the most sensible of the Chiefs in the Archipelago – Stoick couldn't claim that title himself, not after what he'd done with his son and the dragon nest – and normally a firm ally, but she spoke with wariness and suspicion.

"Of course," Stoick agreed. "But first, remind us all of the rumour regarding the Berserker Chief."

There was a round of muttering, given they were all clearly familiar with it, but Bertha just narrowed her eyes at him ever so slightly. "That Dagur trained a dragon of his own, and you killed him to keep the secret for yourself."

Stoick nodded appreciatively, though his expression was dark. "That is a blatant lie. He _attacked_ us on the back of a Skrill, unprovoked, and was captured."

"He slaves away in my mines as we speak," Chief Boulguhr of the Lava Louts confirmed, his deep voice akin to that of iron groaning under immense weight. "I have seen sufficient proof he is Chief no more, and part of our agreement is that you all may see him for yourself, just once." That had been a spur of the moment decision, a precaution given the presence of the rumour with both the Berserkers and Lava Louts.

"Now you, like I, are no doubt wondering where this rumour started," Stoick growled. "Well?"

Everyone looked around, as if expecting someone else to answer. "I… just heard it in the Hall," Bertha said slowly when it became clear nobody else would speak. The others muttered general agreements to that.

"In that case, I might know," Stoick gritted out. "While we were preparing to transport him, one of our kitchen staff made an attempt on his life. I regret to admit that she was an Outcast, though I know not from where." The sudden rising clamour was instantly cut off by a loud growl. "Thank you, Hiccup." The Fury chuffed; a far more effective silencer, amusingly. "Hold your accusations for now. On the way to Berserk, the Outcasts made another attempt on his life by attacking my ship with a fleet."

Here was where things got interesting. "Runa was more talkative when we returned, having thrown the Outcast leader off a cliff. The Outcasts spread these rumours, then tried to ensure they were true." First by slipping him a knife and hoping he'd try to escape with it, then by taking matters into her own hands. "I presume, to turn you all against me."

This was why he had started with the rumour. Without fail, every Chief looked at him as if he had personally planted Outcasts on their island, but not able to claim insult without being able to explain the origin of the rumour that had travelled far more swiftly than it had any right to travel.

The other side of that was far less clear-cut. Apparently Dagur had not come alone, but with some thirty hand-picked warriors. Rather than assault the village during the Skrill attack, several had washed up on beaches, dead by means of slit throats. The fight might have gone _very_ differently if not for interference.

"Well, their leader is dead, and now you know the truth," Stoick summarised, carefully keeping his voice neutral. "Anything more on that before we move on?"

"Jus' get on wit' why you go' two dragons fer guards," rumbled Oaken, Chief of the Bashem Oiks.

"Aye," Stoick said agreeably; normally he wouldn't allow himself to be directed so easily, but carefully slipping perceived power to the other Chiefs was necessary to let them feel they had some control and would thus be more cooperative. "This is Toothy and Hiccup," he said, gesturing to the dragons respectively. "They are Night Furies, still young, that wandered into our village. I brought them as a show of faith."

"What," Mogadon grunted, "faith that you won't set them on us?"

"I doubt I could if I wanted to," Stoick mused, then looked to Toothy. "Would you attack him if I asked?"

Toothy raised his head to look back at him, snorted loudly, then lay back on his paws.

"You cannot be serious," Bertha breathed in disbelief. "They cannot possibly understand Norse." Everyone jumped as both dragons grunted.

"And they speak, to those who know their language. But we digress. It is past time we settle all this fear and suspicion over what we Hooligans have on Berk." He pointedly did not look at Mogadon. "I do not care what you think, but Berk has not and will not be using dragons for war. I do not trust any of you to do the same, but… if you can complete the Night Fury's challenge, he will go home with you, and perhaps even help you get more dragons."

That got everyone listening intently, whatever their motives. Hiccup had suggested it himself, apparently, and it was a good way to show the conflict in nature; Stoick's smirk was thankfully hidden behind his beard as he watched the other Chiefs' hands go to their weapons, their postures rise with determination. "All you need do is stroke him." He demonstrated by calmly holding a hand to Hiccup, into which the dragon pressed his forehead with a purr.

Madguts, Chief of the Murderous tribe, slammed a meaty hand down on the table. "Chief Madguts accepts the challenge," his assistant Gumboil translated unnecessarily; by birth, injury, or choice, Madguts did not speak in more than grunts, and the thick haywire beard covering his face kept anyone from knowing for which reason.

"Would you like some pointers?" Stoick offered as Madguts' chair was thrown back, grating loudly on the stone, but Madguts ignored him in favour of storming around the table.

Of course, even Stoick knew that was entirely the wrong way to approach a dragon, and put up a hand as the Furies snarled. "You have already failed," he said sternly, though Madguts did not stop until the Furies stood and showcased their wicked fangs.

Far from taking no for an answer, he drew his giant sword, a large and fearsome black blade with a human skull mounted on the pommel. Stoick put his hand to his axe, preparing to deflect a strike but not overly concerned; despite their intimidating postures, enormous presences to either side of him, the Furies would flee through one of the many exits if push came to shove.

"Do yeh think teh pet 'em with tha'!?" Mogadon shouted over the rasping hisses. "Si' _down_ yeh lunatic!" At least _someone_ had said it.

Madguts glared, then abruptly turned and strode back to his chair. He did not sheathe his sword, instead driving the tip into the ground and resting his hand on the skull. Everyone relaxed, and Toothy and Hiccup slowly lowered their wings and settled back down.

"You see that while it is easy, it is not so simple," Stoick said calmly. "Anyone can face down a dragon, sword in hand. But can you approach one as you would an infant? With no intent to harm, or use for harm? To trust them to roam your village and play with your children?" He snorted at the uncomfortable shuffling around him; even Bertha looked unnerved. "Like I said, not so simple."

"No intent to use fer 'arm," Oaken growled. "You gone soft or summin'?"

"Old, perhaps," Stoick admitted, "but we did fight off a Berserker army. With sword and shield, not claw and fang. Dragons do not partake in the Viking way of life, and I will not force them to. But I do have a more sensible offer to make."

Faces became grim. Usually when a Chief offered something from a position of power, it was the chance to surrender. Of course, Stoick wasn't suggesting anything of the sort; he knew he _was_ setting up his tribe to one day rule the Archipelago, but that was only a side effect of the peace he himself wanted.

"I will _give_ to all of you," Stoick announced in the silence, "a dragon and rider for a year. See for yourself."

This had been Fishlegs' idea, at first. He had suggested allowing the other tribes to hire dragons and riders, but Stoick and Spitelout had been far more devious. By _giving_ all the tribes a dragon for a time, not only would they not turn down the opportunity and thus all gain insight into how they were used – and how they were not – it also would make them dependent on the beasts.

Once everyone realised the value of having even just one dragon, _then_ they would be available for hire. There were a lot of details to sort out, such as handling living expenses for the stingier tribes, but there were answers to be found.

And all the while, Stoick was subtly placing a presence with every tribe. Not spies, but none would be able to assemble a fleet without his knowing of its arrival well in advance.

"First a strong slave, and now a pet dragon," Boulguhr droned. "One wonders at your generosity… Perhaps, however, coming from you it is not so surprising."

Stoick gave him a curt nod. Working with that helmeted snake was a necessary evil, his far from petty grudge would have to be satisfied with what would come in future generations. And probably also hiking the prices, when that time came.

"A dragon and rider will be dispatched to each of you in the spring, as they need training and are unavailable for the winter. They will remain until the end of autumn." He picked a bundle of rolled parchments from the floor and set it on the table, where it was carefully nudged over to Bertha by Toothy. Signed pledges to fulfil the promise, given how long it would take to deliver, but also to detail the obvious conditions and restrictions.

"They will be flying to you," he continued, "and will land on the longest dock to await greeting. If you feel that a trespass, I encourage you to build a platform separate to your island from which to speak from." That was also in the pledge, underlined, twice. It would do well to set the precedent now, and such a platform was already under construction at Berk despite nobody ever expecting its use. But who knew what the future would bring?

"That is all I have to say," he finished, then waited a short time for everyone to finish reading and give them a chance to ask questions. "You are all of course welcome to join me in my hall if you come up with anything later." With that, he stood firmly, showcasing a little of his strength in throwing the chair back, then strode to the door. It was opened by a Fury – more to protect their sensitive ears than anything – who then followed him into the light outside.

* * *

"Wake!" Dreamer barked happily, instantly energetic with his rise from slumber, and gummed Wanderer's ear, and then his face.

Wanderer simply put a paw on Dreamer's forehead and dug his claws in, warning him off.

Dreamer sat back on his haunches and stared at the Nightstriker's form in the faint light peeking through the mouth of their den. Why would he want to _sleep?_ Dagur was gone for good, Alvin was even more gone for good, and his plan of hiring the dragons out to the other tribes was in motion. It felt like a brand new day, he felt like a brand new dragon, and he was keen to _do_ something!

Like help find Stoick a dragon… Finally! But there was nothing he could do with that right now.

Nothing to do at all but wait for Wanderer to wake…

…

He was taking too long. He did not stir to a quiet, drawn-out whine. At a second, slightly louder whine, a big green eye cracked open, and Dreamer gave him a big smile with his tongue out, panting happily.

The eye drifted closed with a growl. Dreamer whined again, pawing at his friend's wing, which then shifted to cover his face. Dreamer huffed. How could Wanderer be immune to adorable Night Fury fledgling? Maybe he just needed to practice more…

Wrrr, there was another way that was sure to wake him. Dreamer quietly padded around to his back, settled in behind him, and set to grooming behind his frills, teeth skimming lightly over the smooth scales. Wanderer groaned, tilting his head and angling himself to encourage the ministrations towards his itches. Dreamer obliged, following a path around his neck, over his shoulder, onto his chest…

And then he bit him, sinking his sharp teeth into the sensitive hide of the inside of his upper foreleg.

Wanderer yipped as he flung himself to his paws, then prowled forward with a feral grin and a dangerous growl.

"Wake!" Dreamer chirped happily with a broad and toothy grin, backing up; there wasn't really room to flee in the cave, and Wanderer was blocking the exit.

To be fair to him, Dreamer lasted longer than he thought he would, dodging strikes and trying to throw the bigger dragon off-balance, but Wanderer _always_ won when he wanted to. A tail came out of nowhere and knocked his hindlegs out behind him, and then paws grappled his neck and rolled him right over and into a pin. He struggled, but he couldn't get any of his paws onto the ground with his neck pinned on its side like this.

He froze at the sadistic purr in his ear, then let out a low, worried squeak. Wanderer shuffled, tightening the paws around Dreamer's neck, and then-

Dreamer shrieked and thrashed as Wanderer's hindclaws lightly raked down his belly. The leg was underneath his wing already, and hugging to him tightly so that he couldn't get his legs or tail in the way. He could do nothing but shriek in laughter and continue to writhe, both entirely involuntary reactions to the relentless torture.

Past the point he was struggling to breathe, as his laughs were becoming weary and hoarse, the overwhelming sensation _finally_ ceased. He fell limp in Wanderer's embrace, panting heavily and groaning through his raw throat.

Wanderer huffed. "You happy now?" he grumbled.

"You awake," Dreamer chirped, then whimpered as the claws touched his exposed belly again.

With another huff, Wanderer pulled himself upright and shook himself off, then stretched with a wide yawn. "Why you so happy?" he asked with an amused murr. "And awake," he added with a grumble.

"Is good day!" Dreamer replied, bouncing on his paws. "No thing hunting us! Other nests good with kin! Alpha bond with scale-wing-hunter!"

"Just because you mate, not mean you make egg," Wanderer replied absently, then chewed at an itch on his side. "Grrr, I awake now. What you want do?"

_Wrrr,_ the teens weren't due back from Dragon Island until afternoon, having spent a few days there to find several Spine-Tails and a selection of impressive specimens of various species for Stoick to consider. It was tempting to join them, but it was a long and boring flight, and there was a chance of meeting the Fire-Scale alpha in the fog… And Stoick himself wasn't due back until nightfall.

"Not know!" Dreamer barked cheerfully.

Wanderer groaned. "We hunt," he suggested, then trotted to the mouth of the den and flapped into the light.

They wheeled and whirled and generally flew a crazy path around the island to their preferred hunting grounds, trying to tag each other's wings and tail. Wanderer was still a far better flyer, they weren't even remotely close to evenly matched, but Dreamer was slowly bridging the gap. He was tagging more often with more practice, though still mostly down to luck.

As they soared over the channel through the middle of the large island, Dreamer ruminated on how… _small_ it all seemed. A trek from the village to the northern edge of the island was a full two days' journey by foot, but by wing it would barely even register on the sundial. Visiting another tribe was always a huge task to plan, requiring days' worth of food and water to be stockpiled, and then of course actually spending days on end wandering around a boat and eating nothing but dried food.

Not to mention how _fun_ flying was! He did a barrel roll, just to feel his heart skip as the weight seemingly departed his body. Of course, Wanderer then had to show him up by strafing along in front of him during a roll.

They had, at some point during the last two and a half years, hunted every prey-roamed area of the island, and while they tried not to focus too heavily on any one area, this one was their favourite, and Dreamer revelled in the cool, sweet air as they landed.

Dreamer began the hunt with an almighty squeak, because Wanderer had just swiped the tip of his tail before bolting off through the trees. He bounded after him, leaping from rocks and occasionally flicking his wings to adjust his landing.

This ravine sat in shade for much of the day, so there was a cool and damp feeling to the still air. Broad, soft grass grew in the loamy ground, around a littering of large jagged rocks that protruded at all angles. It made for quite a hostile environment, one that deterred the forest's wolves and thus acted as a haven for deer and sometimes boar.

His quarry paused to scent the ground, probably having found a trail, which allowed Dreamer to easily catch up and tackle him. That was inevitably a losing fight, so he just made it his aim to bat Wanderer's snout at least once.

"Here," Wanderer grunted as he stepped off of Dreamer, pawing at his nose. Dreamer rolled upright and scented the crooked tree, noting the scent of deer fur was strong and recent. "Male or female?" he asked testingly.

"Hrrr, female?" Dreamer hazarded, taking short sniffs of where the prey had rubbed itself against the bark. It didn't really matter, but these tests were helping him get a handle on his senses, particularly as the scents were much more difficult to read if they weren't draconic.

"Male," Wanderer corrected him, nosing around for the track. "Young male, easy confuse." He beckoned with a low bark and trotted down the gentle slope, keeping his nose to the ground.

It took a little time to find the quarry, a young buck with small antlers and a light pelt, carefully picking its way through the rocks. Dreamer found himself tensing his claws in anticipation, pulling his wings tightly to his sides and holding himself lower to the ground as he slinked along.

He was not fooled by the prey's tentative steps; deer were fast in this terrain. Their legs were long enough to clear most of the rocks, and their tall stature allowed them to plan further ahead. In comparison, Nightstrikers had very short legs and ran low to the ground, similarly to wolves, such that when the prey saw them coming it immediately disappeared from sight over the rocks.

But Nightstrikers' legs and paws were thicker than wolves', so they did not need to tread as carefully, and quick flaps of their wings could adjust their leaps in the air or carry them further.

They bolted after the prey, jumping off the rocks themselves and not even touching the ground, listening for hooves on stone on the odd occasion they lost sight of it through the sparse trees or around the odd boulder.

There was no thought, there could _be_ no thought. Obstacles arose and were cleared within single heartbeats, immediately giving way to the next. Slowly, ever so slowly, they closed the distance between them and that perky, fluffy white tail.

But then, suddenly, the terrain levelled out. Dreamer hadn't even known of this part of the ravine, a rich green glade with ferns growing at the bases of trees and broad leaves scattered over the flat ground. For a fleeting moment, Dreamer forgot about the chase to gaze at his surroundings.

Wanderer shot past him, startling him from his brief daze, and his instincts gripped him again. He burned everything in pulling forward, squeezing every drop of strength out of his legs and every other muscle in his body. With its long legs, the prey was undoubtedly faster, but Dreamer had an advantage in agility when dodging between trees like this. The remaining distance closed rapidly, and then right as they reached the end of the glade and it leaped over the jagged rocks, he flicked his wings to get on top of it and jumped off its back.

As sure-footed as it was, being unexpectedly shunted downwards mid-leap was irrecoverable. Dreamer flared his wings, braking hard against the air, and landed on a tall, narrow, near-vertical rock.

A little shaky from his exertion, he lowered to the ground and padded back up to the kill, which Wanderer was sure to have finished off if its fall hadn't. True enough, his friend was busy rolling the prey onto its side so they could more easily feast on the tastier meats, as there was too much for them to finish alone.

Dreamer paused at that, then sat down with the carcass just out of reach. He hadn't really thought about it, but now… "We should wait," he panted.

"What?" Wanderer squeaked in confusion, lifting his head to look at him.

"Many Long-Paws come back this light," Dreamer explained. "Alpha come back, after we do good there. Fish-Legs return with more nest-kin. Long-Paws happy. We have much eating this night."

"Much eating in big-food-den?" Wanderer warbled, then groaned. "You say now? After we hunt?"

He considered the size of the prey, that its torso was a little smaller than his own. Additionally, Nightstrikers were heavy for their size, so the prey would be even lighter, relatively speaking. "We not can eat all this. We should give for much-food-thing."

Wanderer churred in dubious amusement as Dreamer straddled the prey, flaring his wings. If he could just get moving, it felt possible; it wasn't _that_ heavy.

A hard thrust of his wings lifted him from the ground, the dead weight in his claws moving surprisingly easily, but it dragged him down too quickly to make that all-important second stroke. He growled in frustration as he hit the ground again, ignoring Wanderer's chortle.

His wings paused in the air, at the peak of an upstroke. If he could push himself to that limit again, give it _everything_ he had, he could lift it, he was sure, but he'd already done that in taking it down. The thought of doing it again had the strength draining from his muscles rather than flooding into them.

Wanderer grunted and nudged his tail. "See." Dreamer stepped back and watched as Wanderer backed up a few body-lengths, then bounded forward and, in one smooth motion, grabbed the deer and pushed into the air. His wings worked frantically to clear him from the trees, but then he pulled out over the natural slope of the ravine and began flying more naturally.

Such a simple motion, but one that no doubt required much practice… Maybe when he hadn't just burned himself out. And had something in his belly. _Hrrr,_ the downside of handing over their kill was that they still needed to find some breakfast somehow…

As he flew up and levelled out next to his friend, he stared wistfully at the catch. He had wanted to be the one to carry it, to prove that he could; he had all this muscle now, but what was the point if he didn't use it productively?

Though Wanderer was struggling a bit by the time they approached village, his broad wings stretched as far as they would go and regularly beating the air with firm downstrokes.

Not really knowing what to do with it, he flew to the back of the Great Hall, to the narrow ledge that led to the kitchen's back entrance. Wanderer landed heavily next to him, expertly dropping the buck right by the door, then pawed at the latch until it opened.

The racket inside wasn't too bad, the few pans for cooking breakfast meats and eggs both lighter and fewer than the numerous heavy pots brought out for dinner. Dreamer stuck his head inside and barked, inwardly grinning at the brief silence that followed, then backed out to allow one of the women, one he didn't recognise, to come see what he wanted.

He crooned happily at her and hopped over the deer, then nosed its shoulder and backed away. She stared at him, then the deer, then him again. _"For us?"_ she asked.

Both Nightstrikers nodded, and she stiffly stepped back inside the door and started calling out. They would want it skinned and gutted, but no doubt they could summon whoever's job that was.

While she wasn't looking, Dreamer scratched at the ground in front of Wanderer and looked at him expectantly.

Wanderer faked a weary groan, then purred thoughtfully before scratching in the trodden dirt. When he was done, he barked to get the attention of the woman again, and pointed at the ground.

CHEES

_Hrrr,_ not a bad choice from what was available from the kitchen. Fish was of course much better when fresh from the water, and they very rarely got cheese, being unable to cut slices from the block. Dreamer was surprised Wanderer even knew the word; most of it, anyway.

The reaction would never cease to be amusing. She stared at the word as if not entirely sure she was seeing it.

It had been a strange experience to teach a dragon to write. At first it was difficult to communicate the concept that the lines drawn in the dirt could have complex meaning. After days of no success, Dreamer got bored, walked up to the nearest person, and wrote the word "FISH" in the ground in front of him. He'd earned Wanderer's avid interest when he was provided with the fish he could smell in the startled man's pocket.

When he had then walked up to a young girl and wrote "BELLY RUBS" it sort of spiralled out of control and he lost track of what had happened after that, but the next time he checked on Wanderer he'd already learned to write his first and second words; both of them foods, of course.

They were far from reaching the point Dreamer could address the issue with Gobber, however, he had to wait until Wanderer was at least able to construct a simple sentence. Then it wouldn't seem entirely out of place.

Lumps of cheese in mouths, they winged out to their den, quickly dropped the treat at the back and leaped outside again. Cheese was not something to savour on an empty stomach, so first they needed some fresh fish, and given how much they had contributed to the village, it was only fair they took the easy meal.

When they'd only needed one or two fish, and had been tiny and impossibly adorable, the fishermen would happily toss them a satisfying meal. Now that they were bigger and required four fish _each,_ they were apparently pushing the limits of how much their cuteness would buy.

But that was fine, they had other ways. Wanderer landed on the small boat, on the prow, and shuffled his paws excitedly. _"Aww, you hungry?"_ one of the burly men cooed, totally ruining the sturdy and unbreakable Viking image he otherwise had going, then picked two fish from the haul and tossed them up to him.

While they were distracted, Dreamer lightly touched down behind them, carefully landing with the rocking of the waves so it wouldn't be felt, and quickly scoffed down four fish. He then backed up and did a little jump, getting the attention of the two Vikings, and stared at them with wide innocent eyes and a tilt of his head.

_"Awright, yeh can 'ave some as well,"_ the other man grumbled good-naturedly, and tossed him another two fish.

He chirped in gratitude around the fish in his mouth and bounded off the railing as Wanderer leaped from the prow, and they sped back towards their den.

"I not can believe we still can do that," Wanderer chuckled as Dreamer threw him the two fish, which were hastily snapped down.

"We Nightstrikers," Dreamer chirped in mock-offense as he trotted in to claim his cheese, from which he then shaved off tiny pieces with his teeth. _Whuff,_ he had forgotten how strong this stuff was.

"But it not night," Wanderer teased back. "Also you _terrible_ fighter."

Dreamer growled dangerously at him, but didn't try to prove him wrong. Not when he was fairly certain his cheese would get stolen if he left it unattended.

* * *

This sort of much-food ceremony was _much_ more pleasant than others Wanderer had participated in. The Long-Paws were loud enough to pin his ears to his neck and _still_ be uncomfortable, but it was a tolerable discomfort and more than worth all the food.

There was also that the Long-Paws here were less trying to convince themselves they were happy, and more showing the weary true happiness one felt after a fruitful hunt, or a long day of travel. It was certainly a much more pleasant environment to be in and observe, second to perhaps the one that occurred at the end of the cooling-season for some reason where one Long-Paw would stand up and tell humorous stories of Dreamer.

He tired of the bone he'd been chewing on, having depleted it of meat and marrow, and trotted over to the food. For the most part he could avoid getting within striking distance of the Long-Paws, but regardless he held his wings forward a little so that the wrists guarded his neck, and he suspiciously eyed any who neared.

Barely even thinking of that, being reflexive, he stood on his hindlegs to inspect the various foods. What did he fancy? _Rrgh,_ not more cheese… He snapped down a fish, more for the satisfaction than the enjoyment, then glanced back at the land-prey he and Dreamer had caught, now skinned and heated so that the meat was soft and juicy… But then he had just eaten an entire leg of that.

With a shrug of his wings, he grabbed a big leg of a different land-prey and bounded back to the corner where Dreamer was still tearing into his meal, then began tearing strips off and savouring it as his teeth and claws easily sliced through it.

While he was finishing that off, thinking he would be done with a few more fish – he'd prefer some of the soft inner-meats, but the Long-Paws always did strange things with them that made them unappetising – Dreamer's Sire approached and slumped down on the ground next to them, staring out at the other Long-Paws. He didn't say anything other than to offer them-

Wanderer hastily grabbed the chewy, tasty fish out of his paw, and set to gnawing it. _Mmrrrr,_ how long since he'd had one of these? They must have made more. The big Long-Paw chuckled, tossing one to Dreamer as well, then gently rubbed Wanderer's neck and stroked his frills.

He considered, while tearing off a long strip of fish and then gnawing at the delicious meat, that he was placing quite a lot of trust in the alpha to lay here like this. He doubted he would be able to react in time were the paw to push down and pin his neck to the ground, all but immobilising him, but he didn't feel threatened or in danger; no more than when Dreamer had teeth to his throat.

This trust wasn't something that had been earned easily though… The copiously-furred male had done much for the Nightstrikers over the seasons. Losing his fledgling had changed him, quite a lot…

He glanced at Dreamer, who was still chewing the tough and tasty head of the fish. Dreamer called him his sire, on occasion, but not Sire as Wanderer did his, and always with an edge of bitterness that pained Wanderer to hear; not that he disagreed with it…

But that was well in the past. Wanderer would never forgive the Long-Paw for what he had done, and what he hadn't, but he got the impression the Long-Paw would never forgive himself either. There was no reason to hold a grudge.

After snapping down the rest of his fish – it seemed much smaller than he remembered – he gave a loud, thankful purr and nuzzled the hand on his head. And then, with another glance between Dreamer and his sire, he rolled onto his back and playfully swiped at the massive paw.

Despite his playful intentions, the paw simply ran over his chest, stopping short of his full belly, and moved around in slow, firm motions that had him groaning and slumping back onto the stone. Yes, he definitely held quite a lot of trust for this Long-Paw… He was purring, quite involuntarily, despite his suddenly bared throat now that his head was laid back against the ground.

How deep was Dreamer's pain, to still growl in addressing his sire…

When Dreamer inevitably nosed his way into the attention, Wanderer simply looked up as the ministrations ceased. Rubbing and scratching their scales was all well and good, but not enough to begin mending the divide, to help Dreamer's pain scab over and heal. Like when they shed their hides, the deeper wounds would leave larger, stronger scales in their place, but only once healed.

Wanderer huffed and flipped upright, then hopped over Dreamer's sire's lap to his other side. He really was a big Long-Paw, with big dangerous hands, but the Nightstrikers were getting big themselves, and he didn't feel threatened. He lifted his forepaws and placed them on the alpha's shoulder to lean forward and poke his curious nose into the thick face-fur; it smelled of fur, and surprisingly, the fat of various prey.

And then it tickled his nose the wrong way, causing him to sneeze.

The alpha chuckled, lifting his other paw to scratch under his chin, but Wanderer didn't want more scratches. He growled and playfully attacked the paw – blegh, it tasted of rot-water – while grappling with the wrist. More chuckling, and then he was shuffling his hind legs as he was pulled this way and that, but that only intensified his playful growl.

The paw flexed, and his hindlegs were suddenly dangling in the air, leaving him supported by only his grip on the paw and a little bit by his tail, wings flaring for balance. Dreamer, no longer distracted by the other paw, pounced and nearly succeeded in knocking him over. Wanderer's hindpaws met the ground though, allowing him to shove forward, but the force was easily absorbed and then he was being pushed back again.

So instead of pushing, he pulled, and nearly succeeded in toppling the Long-Paw, but even with Dreamer grappling him from behind they just couldn't bring him down. They tackled and shoved and tugged with absolutely no success – and the alpha had the gall to just keep trying to scratch behind their ears, not even taking them seriously! Except when Dreamer actually climbed on top of him, standing on his shoulders, and he casually reached up to grab Dreamer and pull him down into his lap, _then_ scratched behind his ears.

Though he wasn't actually pinned there, Dreamer gave up and relaxed, purring at the attention through his satisfied panting. Wanderer huffed and chewed his ear, though he was panting himself, then pouted at the alpha. _One light, when we bigger…_

But for now, he had much to get back at Dreamer for. He walked onto the Long-Paw's lap and settled himself onto Dreamer's back, shoving his head under the paw scratching at his ears and completely blocking Dreamer off from it while also pinning him there. He only grinned at the growling and struggling beneath him, purring and shuffling his hindleg a little to more comfortably rest between the spines on Dreamer's back.

The alpha chuckled again, then had him groaning happily with firm pressure over his back. He didn't want to sleep just yet, but he wasn't really being given a choice…

* * *

_"Where's ya fight gone, eh!?"_

Dreamer, sat off to the side of the lineup near the forest, cringed at his sire's harsh tone, then glanced sympathetically at the Nightmare that had snapped at Stoick and subsequently been firmly encouraged not to snap at him again. It was still early, and Wanderer still wasn't up; waking him two days in a row felt like a dangerous thing to do, particularly after the feast last night…

_"If you're going to bare your teeth, at least don't cower when I do the same,"_ Stoick growled, stalking over to the Nadder Astrid had picked out.

_"Nightmares might seem strong, but they're mostly just full of hot air,"_ Astrid explained self-importantly. _"What you really want is a Nadder. Even hotter fire, sharp spines for range, and much less temperamental. You won't find a dragon more loyal."_

_"Like how she was the last to return from the nest?"_ Stoick growled, then paced around the dragon, looking it over and making vague noncommittal noises. He didn't sound very impressed.

_"Ah, careful Chief, Nadders are very vain, you need to always treat them with the-"_

The Nadder hissed and swiped threateningly at Stoick with the talon on her wing, then warbled smugly and began preening. Stoick gave Astrid a flat stare and moved on.

The twins were standing either side of a Zippleback, and a big one at that, about as big as Hookfang. Actually, come to think of the dragons at the warm-nest, Hookfang was not a very big Nightmare…

_"Ignore those two, they got nuthin' on a Zippleback,"_ Tuffnut said dismissively, then dropped into a dramatic pose with accompanying voice. _"Always alert, always aware, twice as smart as other dragons for having twice as many heads!"_

_"Cheh, yeah, when they get along,"_ Ruffnut drawled, as if to herself.

_"Ignore her too, Chief. Thor knows I try to…"_

_"What was that!?"_

Stoick barely spared them a glance and walked right on past.

_"See, what you really want is a Gronckle,"_ Fishlegs explained matter-of-factly. _"They might not look as fierce as a Nightmare, but-"_

_"I've heard enough,"_ Stoick said, cutting him off, and walked past him to find himself staring at Dreamer.

Dreamer tilted his head at his sire, wondering what he was going to do now. He'd rejected all the dragons in the lineup-

He froze at the considering look the big man was giving him.

_"None of these dragons are any good,"_ his sire suddenly announced. _"Show me something else."_ He then turned and strode back to the village.

Had he really, even for a moment, considered… Dreamer had a hard time not bursting into laughter. Even a fully grown Nightstriker would struggle to carry such a big passenger for any length of time, and certainly wouldn't be very fast or agile while doing so.

For that matter, no dragon would be particularly fast while carrying him, but other dragons had qualities besides being fast and agile. _Wrrr,_ Nightstrikers were also silent, and adorable when they wanted to be, but neither of those qualities were of particular use to a Viking Chief.

_"Man, now what're we going to do?"_ Tuffnut groaned at Fishlegs.

_"Umm… I think that Timberjack's still nesting up on the north mountain?"_ Fishlegs replied uncertainly, scratching his round cheek.

Dreamer couldn't help it, he _did_ laugh at that. Timberjacks had long and delicate bodies, with giant wings for gliding long distances. They were even further removed from what a Chief needed.

_"…Yeah, Hiccy's right,"_ Tuffnut drawled. _"But we haven't got anything else. We'll just have to keep our eyes out. Not, like, outside our heads. Just, you know… Wait, what _does_ that mean?"_

Astrid walked up behind him and slapped him on the back. _"We get it, Tuff, don't hurt yourself. There's plenty of other dragons in the book, we'll just… have to go looking for them."_

_"I feel obligated to point out I have _no idea_ how to train any other dragons... Or, for that matter, how Hiccup knew how to train ours."_ He stared pleadingly at Dreamer, but Dreamer just smiled innocently at him. Of course he would help, but Fishlegs needed some confidence in approaching new dragons himself. _"Fine... I'll… go looking through the old Book of Dragons. See what I can dig up."_

Right, the book that consisted of advice composed almost entirely of 'kill on sight'. What could possibly go wrong?


	35. Knowledge

"Johann's back!"

The distant cheer froze Stoick mid-sentence, though there was little point in continuing as the two people for whom he had been trying to settle responsibility of a yak had suddenly forgotten their feud and were fleeing to find valuables to trade with the merchant coming in to dock.

Right, it was nearing the end of autumn, when the cold winds that heralded winter sped Johann back through the Archipelago to keep everyone stocked for the freeze. What was traded was managed by each clan, once it was ensured there were ample resources for the village, but this year it seemed likely they could buy everything Johann had, including his boat; given that dragon raids were a thing of the past, and the Berserkers were now more focused on fighting each other than hunting dragons, dragon commodities would be particularly valuable.

He sighed and conscripted several nearby villagers to run errands and get everything organised while Johann made port, as well as alert the kitchens to fire up the stoves and get some food going. Mainlanders did this strange thing called 'lunch' where they ate at early afternoon, as _well_ as at breakfast and dinner, but it was a small price to keep the man happy. Either way, Stoick himself appreciated a hot meal after days on a boat, though preferred waiting to feast at dinner where possible.

Fishlegs wasn't anywhere to be found, nothing unusual there, but Stoick knew the excess supplies of shed scales and teeth were all stashed in one of the storehouses near the lower end of the village. The small supply they intended on keeping – it was a constantly regenerating resource, and as of yet they had no idea what even _could_ be done with any of it beyond some gaudy scale armour – was stored further up, pure habit from when everything had been distributed around the village out of necessity.

Not to worry then. After personally ensuring the supplies for trade were ready to go, he descended down to the docks, pushed through the crowd, and watched the familiar boat as it cut through the water.

While he waited, he mused on the efficiency of dragons. It had taken over five days to reach Berserk by boat, while the dragons had taken less than a day to catch up. Sailing times would, one day, be a thing of the past… And yet, probably not, because dragons could not carry anything near the same cargo as a ship could. There would always be a need for boats.

"Chief Stoick!" Johann called out from the prow as the ship neared. "A pleasure to see you again!"

"Welcome to Berk," he called back, then helped moor the ship. "Please accept our hospitality and come ashore."

"Ah, you know the song and dance by now, old friend. Allow me to tend to your people first, and I'll be with you later."

Stoick nodded at him; were Johann to ever come ashore before satiating the tribe's excitement, he'd probably be lynched before even reaching the village.

Again, he wavered, torn between taking his right as first pick and start letting everyone else through. Hiccup had brought more than enough strangeness to the household even without trading odds and ends with the merchant, but now…

"You know the drill," he announced, turning to the line of behind him. "Four at a time, and if I hear of any of you dawdling I'll feed you to the Furies." With that, he marched his way back up the ramps to ensure nothing fell apart with a third of the village down here at the docks.

Where _were_ the Furies, anyway? Probably off with Fishlegs, he supposed, and maybe the rest of the riders. They were all still only teens, it was unlikely they needed anything from Johann, but if they did then they'd have left orders with their families. If their frequent absences over the last few weeks were anything to go by, it wasn't likely they would catch him. Even Astrid was seldom around, having little to do with the village calming after the summer rush but not yet preparing to hunker down for winter.

Over the next few hours, he kept an eye on the length of the queue, and headed to the Great Hall once it began to dwindle.

"My, my, Chief Stoick," Johann exclaimed in friendly greeting as he entered the empty hall, "your people are as delightful as ever."

"They are certainly an enthusiastic people," offered a young man who followed Johann in. "I have heard much about you, Chief Stoick, although the legends clearly do not do you justice."

Stoick, thrown a little off-guard, fell back on his Chiefly instincts. The man was dressed moderately, but his neatly trimmed hair and beard, clear voice and impeccable posture was what Stoick associated with rich southerners, though he had the muscle of a working man. Having been addressed directly, Stoick held out a hand to shake.

The man took it cautiously, then winced as Stoick gauged how much pressure he could handle; a little less than the average Viking, not bad.

"Ah, yes, I have brought something of an expert, you see," Johann interjected, wringing his hands, "given what you told me you wanted to sell this year. In my work, it pays to be prudent."

"An expert… on dragons?"

"That happens to be the market I am in, yes," the man casually elaborated. "I am told you have a new supply of teeth and scales for trade, and that they might be unusual in nature? I must say I am intrigued."

"Only unusual in how we acquired them, perhaps," Stoick replied, suppressing the temptation to glare at Johann. What did it matter how they were obtained?

"Sometimes that makes all the difference. Now then, shall we?"

They all walked to the Chief's table, where Stoick sat in his chair and gestured to four small boxes; standard procedure for dealing with traders. The two merchants took their seats and each took a box, finding the assortments contained within.

"Gronckle teeth," the stranger said immediately, picking one out and holding the long tooth to the big candle on the table. "Worn, but undamaged. Shed naturally…" Stoick's eyebrow went up. "The roots are damaged, you see. And yet, the tooth is healthy, unlike a dragon kept in captivity. Curious, most curious. Not as valuable as one pulled by skilled hands, but more than most."

Johann replaced his box as a young woman brought out mead and plates of hot mutton and vegetables, thanking her warmly, but the second plate she set down went ignored. "Ah, Deadly Nadder teeth and scales, also shed naturally, and a good quality tail-spine. Still sharp…" They had a particular abundance of those, almost as many teeth and scales as from a year of dragon raids and several times as many spines, but Stoick was wise to the ways of traders and knew that to reveal that would result in a lower price.

The fourth box was opened and inspected quickly, looking as if just a formality at this point. He seemed… disappointed. "All in good condition," he said as he delicately closed the last box and lined it up neatly with the others. "If the rest are as these then they will certainly sell."

"Excellent, your assistance in this matter is most appreciated," Johann exclaimed happily between eager mouthfuls. "We shall discuss privately in a moment."

"I must admit," the newcomer continued carefully, lacing his fingers in front of his face and staring at Stoick, "I was hoping to see something more… exotic."

They both spared Johann a raised eyebrow as he choked on his mead.

Stoick used the moment to think, tapping the arm of his chair. "What can you offer me?"

"Well, that is rather an open question. What's the harm in looking? I myself must profess ignorance on the fifth species that by all reports resides here." Stoick simply stared levelly at him. "Come now, Chief, it is in your interests to be in my good graces."

It was, at that, he would be more or less setting the price on the scales and teeth, at least to start with… Stoick tapped the arm of his chair a few more times, then reached down and placed a fifth box on the table; something he had prepared, just in case.

The man's eyes grew wide and excited, though he showed no impatience as he reached out, took the box, and opened it. "No teeth?" he asked as he delicately took out the rectangular strip of Night Fury hide and inspected it closely.

"They don't shed them," Stoick said gruffly. How had Fishlegs put it…? "Got grindstones in their mouths." That was it.

He looked up for a moment, surprise written all over his face. "Truly? How remarkable… A shame, though, I daresay a single one holds more value than could currently be found on this island…" He then frowned at his fingers as he rubbed them together. "The edges were not cut. It comes in pieces? Tricky… But worth an indefinite supply, in the long run. This will still make you a tidy sum."

Stoick was getting an uneasy feeling from this man, and it wasn't just that at no point had he offered his name. He had no intention of selling the Fury hide, it was in too short a supply to replace if they did find a use for it, but something kept him from saying so. There was no harm in getting a price he would not be using.

"And the Night Furies themselves? I am eager to meet them."

_That_ was definitely not happening, if it could be helped. "They are their own dragons," Stoick explained diplomatically. "I don't know where they are, but they usually return at sundown."

"A pity. Perhaps I will return some other day, when I have less to prepare. For now, it is best we settle our accounts and complete our business. Johann, let us retreat to your ship to discuss, and Chief Stoick, if you would be so kind as to arrange delivery of the goods to the docks? You have my thanks." He then stood and strolled out of the Hall, one arm held primly behind his back.

"I'll tell you one thing," Johann said quietly as he extracted himself from the table, "he won't be coming on _my_ ship again. Oh, before I depart, I do have some news, as it were. Certain circumstances have led to my plans for next year changing. Not to worry, not to worry, I will still be making my tour of the Archipelago, but I will be doing so throughout the year."

"Hmm, that is good to know," Stoick hummed thoughtfully. He didn't know if it would be useful or not, but maybe with more regular visits it would become a more normal thing for the village, and everyone would stop going wild at the mention of his name.

"I don't yet know my exact plans, some of it will be made up as I go, but I'll be sure to keep you informed. Ah, though it is probably best we do not keep my guest waiting." The merchant gave a slight bow and hightailed it from the Hall.

Stoick sighed deeply, then waited a few minutes before leaving the hall himself to get it all sorted. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner they would leave.

* * *

_"Tell me what we're dealing with then."_

Dealing with? Dreamer huffed, giving a little flap for height and looking around warily. So far, _it_ had been dealing with _them._

_"Like I said, a Thunderdrum,"_ Fishlegs supplied from the back of Meatlug, buzzing along nearby. _"Big mouth, lots of teeth, no fire but its roar is lethal at close range. It's been chasing boats out of the area, but we can't get near it on our dragons, it just knocks us out of the sky."_ Dreamer and Wanderer grumbled at that; it was a mild way of putting it, the Thunderdrum's roar was excruciating. _"So if we can't use our dragons, we need some more… traditional methods to get it under control."_

_"Didn't _all_ of you finish Dragon Training?"_ Stoick grumbled from Hookfang's shoulders.

_"Yeah, and if we wanted to kill it that might not be a problem,"_ Astrid shouted, pulling Stormfly in a little closer to be heard. _"But it's too dangerous to get near otherwise."_

"I'm_ sure we could have handled it, Chief,"_ Snotlout toadied over his shoulder.

_"Hah, you couldn't even handle a little Night Fury,"_ Tuffnut teased.

Ruffnut pulled her head of their dragon over to shove her brother out of the way. _"All in favour of letting Snotlout try anyway?"_

Dreamer smirked as Stoick totally ignored the banter, barking out orders and nodding as everyone scrambled to obey. It was interesting how vehemently they complied, not talking back or responding at all really other than to acknowledge and do as asked, particularly as all he was really telling them to do was fly in formation and keep their eyes open.

The Thunderdrum was, unsurprisingly, in its usual place, lounging on a broad shelf that rested just above the waterline and was totally cut off from the rest of the island by a sheer cliff. There was a cave cut into the rock behind it, which Dreamer suspected hadn't been there before; he didn't remember seeing it the few times he'd flown around the island.

They all alighted on the cliff well above the shelf, and peered over the edge. _"We can dive in from behind, that gave us enough time to get on it,"_ Astrid explained, _"but we couldn't pin it down and stop it from roaring. It just stunned our dragons and flew away."_

_"Alright then, take me down,"_ Stoick growled, unslinging his hammer.

_"What's the plan Chief?"_ Fishlegs asked nervously.

_"You drop me in there and I hold it down while you fit the muzzle,"_ Stoick explained with strained patience. Of course; there was the Viking way, and that was about it, really. _"Well?"_ He kicked Hookfang with his heel, and Hookfang dove, closely followed by the others. Dreamer and Wanderer stayed and looked down from the cliff; neither of them had any desire to spend another afternoon laying around clutching at their ears.

It was apparently wise to them trying to sneak up behind it again, and turned to roar before they'd even made it to the ground. The four dragons landed heavily, but a large form immediately rolled clear of the tangle and collided with the Thunderdrum, delivering swift blows and then grabbing the horn above its nose.

Dreamer barked in alarm as his sire was dragged into the water with the dragon, instantly disappearing under the calm waves. He paced the cliff anxiously, waiting for-

The water bulged and broke as a large form collided with the shelf, Stoick flopping up onto the rock with a wave of water. He was nearly pulled back in by his arm, but in moments he was hauling up the entire dragon single-handedly. _"Woah, certainly gave me a run for my axe!"_ he said loudly, holding it down while Astrid hastily fitted the crude muzzle over its mouth; a simple system consisting of two iron plates that went above and below the mouth, held in place by whatever ropes they could secure to the dragon. _"I want it trained and ready to go as soon as you can!"_

_"Wait, what!?"_ Fishlegs exclaimed just as loudly, clearly audible despite the distance; right, they were all half-deafened.

_"I said, I want it trained! This is my dragon!"_

* * *

_"I'm begging you, work your magic on it! I have no idea what I'm doing!"_

"You think I know?" Dreamer huffed at Fishlegs, exasperated. "Your scale-wing-hunters hungry. I feed them. They stuck in cave, I let them stretch. I give what they want, they friends now." He pointed a wing at the Thunderdrum, now being lowered by Hookfang back into the training ring after its third successful escape attempt. "He want leave."

_"Well, as much as I'd like to let it, we can't just give up! It's only going to go back to attacking boats."_ He sighed heavily. _"Toothy? Anything?"_

Wanderer rolled his eyes. "I tell you, it water-hunter. We wing-hunters." Dreamer snorted; as far as Wanderer was concerned, he was even more removed from the Thunderdrum than Fishlegs, on account of being even further removed from the sea.

Assuming it ate in the morning and evening, like most dragons, the Thunderdrum was currently missing its fourth meal, being the morning of the third day since they'd captured it. They'd _tried_ to feed it, but it had used the slack from the muzzle to surprise Fishlegs, break its tether and make its first escape. And things had only gone downhill from there, rejecting all offers of food or communication.

Dreamer sighed and padded over in front of it. "We only want help," he tried.

It blinked at him, then grunted so loudly it left an ache in Dreamer's ears. Did dragons of the air, land, and sea not get along? The Speed Stingers certainly hadn't either…

But then Speed Stingers were extremely aggressive and jittery, showing no hints of fear or anything, while this Thunderdrum looked anxious. The two species couldn't be compared in that way. So what was the problem? Maybe if they found more of them…

No, that was a stupid thing to do, given how easily they could incapacitate him. He groaned under his breath and walked back to Fishlegs. "I not know. Maybe they have different words. I not understand this scale-wing-hunter."

_"If you don't, what chance have I got?"_ Fishlegs squeaked nervously. _"Oh Thor, what are we gonna do…"_

Nothing for it but keep trying different things… Dreamer barked _encouragement_ and leapt into the sky to clear his thoughts.

* * *

"How're you getting on?" Stoick confidently announced himself from the gate as he entered the training ring.

"Not good," Fishlegs called back, sounding exhausted. "We can't even get it to eat, any time we try it just attacks us and tries to fly off. It doesn't talk Dragonese, it doesn't react to dragon nip, and it's not responding to _any_ of the stuff that we use on the common dragons. Hel, I'm having trouble even getting its attention."

"Bah, there's an easy way to fix that." Stoick strode forward, his head high and his back straight. He was in a mightily good mood today, and things always went well when he was in a good mood. He approached the dragon and gave it a courteous greeting. "Oi, Dragon!" he shouted, puffing out his chest with his hands on his hips.

It turned on its little legs to face him, watching him intensely. Yes, this dragon was perfect. Nobody else had a Thunderdrum, it was a big and fierce dragon, capable of immobilising other dragons, clearly a strong flier with those huge wings, and it had thrown him around with ease.

"I think it's time we got properly acquainted," Stoick continued cheerfully, reaching out to the dragon. It flicked its head, trying to stab him with its horn, but he quickly got a grip on it and gave it a friendly roughing before letting it go.

"Um, Chief, dragons tend to prefer a gentler touch," Fishlegs said meekly.

"That _was_ gentle. He's still standing, ain' he?" The dragon grunted loudly, a sound Stoick felt in his ribs, and tugged at the tether anchoring it to a post affixed to the ground. It was quite a short chain, and it was clearly unhappy with it.

"Ahh, what are you doing Chief?" Fishlegs asked nervously.

"You've got his chain too short, no wonder he's fighting you," he explained as he adjusted the links.

"No, wait-!"

The dragon tilted and flicked its head, wrenching the post from its hole in the ground. Out of pure instinct, Stoick grabbed on to the beast as it launched itself into the air, holding on to the muzzle and draped over the side of its head.

Not the first time he had been lifted by a dragon, not even the first time being carried off by a wild one, but usually there were a few acres of village to guide the beast down to after knocking it senseless. The training ring overlooked the ocean directly, and they were already out above the waves.

But, after a moment, Stoick remembered that the bad old days of dragons raiding the village were over. He wasn't being carried off to the nest, just to wherever the dragon wanted to go. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. He resisted the urge to punch its nose and just held on.

It had absolutely no trouble carrying him, unlike Stormfly, though it tried to buck him off the entire trip. Which was apparently to the same shelf they kept finding it on.

Stoick let go and savoured the feeling of solid ground under his feet as he landed, even as he prepared for the dragon to charge him.

There was no such attack. The Thunderdrum just snorted at him and took up its usual position, settling onto the ground.

"Why here?" Stoick demanded. Its eyes went to him, but then back to gazing out over the sea. He looked around, but there was nowhere to go besides sheer cliff and deep water. There was the cave, but that was behind the dragon and it growled at him when he approached it.

With nothing better to do, Stoick went and sat down against the cliff. His good mood quickly evaporated as nobody turned up to give him a lift back to the village, which was odd as Fishlegs had been there to see. They would surely be looking for him, and this was the first place they should think to check.

But no, the sun crawled across the sky with no sign of rescue in sight. It was tempting to beat the dragon senseless, but that wouldn't convince it to give him a lift back.

Some hours later, two shapes caught Stoick's eye, swooping low over the water and angling towards the shelf. "Well it's about bloody time!" he announced, getting to his feet, and the Thunderdrum let out a deep, dangerous growl.

His enthusiasm died down when he saw it _wasn't_ any of the riders, but rather another pair of Thunderdrums that glided over and alighted on the shelf.

The much smaller of the two rose at seeing Thornado – a name Stoick had decided on giving his dragon at some point in the last couple of hours – but was outright _attacked_ by the larger newcomer, receiving a bite to the face and a headbutt to knock it into the water. "Hey!" Stoick shouted. "That seemed a bit harsh!" Thornado kept right on growling through the muzzle, advancing slowly on the new Thunderdrum.

Right as Stoick was contemplating the wisdom in attacking another dragon while wearing a muzzle, even if it was slightly smaller, the two lunged and fought in earnest. He had seen more of his share of dragons fighting people, but two dragons fighting each other like this was a totally different story. There was no reprieve, no moments of consideration, just reacting and responding to attacks and openings in a flurry of wings, tails, and teeth.

Except the teeth were only on one side of the fight.

In moments, Stoick was in the fight himself, and abruptly found Thornado had been really holding back when they'd captured him. He caught the wing that snapped out at him, but while he succeeded in preventing it from taking off his head he was thrown back by the force.

Thornado used the distraction to headbutt the hostile dragon and tried to stab it under the chin with his horn, but it simply opened its _enormous_ mouth and bit down – thankfully the muzzle prevented any real damage, giving Stoick a chance to punch it heavily in the side of the head.

A tail whipped around, slapping painfully against Stoick's side, but caught him in the stomach on the way back and threw him back several paces, where he rolled into a crouch. Thornado was bulled back and flung over in the moments following, landing heavily next to him with the post that was still attached to the muzzle clattering to the ground.

Stoick shared a look with the muzzled dragon, a moment that seemed to last an eternity. He saw fire there, a blazing drive to fight and protect… a soul to match his own.

Without missing a beat, Stoick wrenched apart the two plates of the muzzle, snapping the rope at the side, then slung it off and tossed it aside.

They both roared mightily as they charged to meet their opponent, Thornado moving with surprising speed. The dragons crashed into each other, wide mouths trying to get around the other's, while Stoick ducked under the wing and punched it in the side. It yelped, swinging its tail around, but Stoick was ready for that this time and grabbed it, walking with it when it tried to pull him over, then yanked on it and dragged the dragon back.

It threw itself to the side, taking Stoick with it, but then the dragon's body jerked and twitched several times. Stoick took the chance to kick it in the flank, then spun forward and delivered a heavy blow to the side of its head.

It suddenly wasn't trying to fight them anymore, throwing itself back towards the water and then beating its wings to take off and flee, leaving a trail of blood. "Yeah that's right, run you coward!" Stoick bellowed after it, Thornado adding his own loud and hopefully insulting shout as it sped away.

He and Thornado then turned to stare consideringly at each other. Stoick dropped to one knee to get more on the dragon's level, and held out his hand. Thornado rumbled loudly, then pressed his snout into it.

It had been an instinctive thing, but, Stoick suddenly realised, exactly what Hiccup had done. He'd seen the drawing of him and Toothless, and seen how he'd handled the Nightmare in the ring before Stoick foolishly spooked it. This felt like a monumental moment.

Before the tears could well up in his eyes, movement caught his eye, and he realised they were being observed. The second, smaller Thunderdrum was floating in the waves, watching them, and flapped up out of the water and onto the shelf as he noticed it. Thornado roared at it, it roared back, and then they nuzzled each other.

"Ohh… I see." Stoick turned to give the new couple some privacy, though there wasn't really anywhere to go so he just ended up sat down facing the wall. A huff at his elbow surprised him, and turned to see Thornado staring at him, eyes looking him over as if searching for something. "No, it's fine. You go be with her." He gestured to the presumably female Thunderdrum they'd just fought for.

Thornado roared at him, and he could have _sworn_ the dragon was _smiling._ "Yeah well you'd better treat her right!" he shouted back. "I don't want to have to fight you off too! Again!" Thornado roared again, and then the two hopped off the ledge and into the water.

He stood and walked to the water's edge to stare into it, and out at the horizon. Were this a bard's tale, his rescue would show up right about now, just when everything was resolved; when he eventually told the story, when he was a wizened old man with nothing better to do, that's how he would tell it.

But reality didn't work that way, and it was some time before the search party _finally_ found him. "What took you so long?" he asked as the teens landed, plus Vidar, one of the Nadder scouts.

"Well," Astrid said dryly, "once _someone_ stopped panicking and thought to go get help-"

"Which was nowhere to be found as nobody had told anyone where they were going," Fishlegs cut in.

Stoick just folded his arms and impassively watched the argument unfold, waiting for someone to notice the situation.

That moment was marked by Fishlegs pausing mid-sentence, looking back to Stoick, and then nearly falling back off his dragon. "Ah, uh, sorry Chief. But I just realised, where's…" He looked around, eyes going wide at the muzzle and wider at the pool of blood. "Oh Thor, you didn't…?"

"Eh, we came to an agreement," Stoick said amicably, dropping his thunderous expression. "Fought off a nasty dragon. There won't be any more attacks." Actually, he didn't know which Thunderdrum had actually been attacking the boats, or why, but what were the odds of _another_ one frequenting this ledge?

"You _trained_ it!?" Fishlegs asked incredulously.

Stoick raised an eyebrow at him as he walked over to Stormfly. "I don't know if you know this, Fishlegs, but you don't just _train_ a dragon. You first need to establish trust."

Fishlegs nearly fell off his Gronckle again, and everyone else was gaping at him. He ignored them in favour of climbing up behind Astrid.

Once they were in the air and levelled out, high above the island, Fishlegs sidled up to them. "So how did you do it? What did you do? How do we work with them in future?"

Stoick thought, and realised that it all basically boiled down to one thing. "Yell at it."

"What!? C'mon Chief, give me more than three words, please! This is very important for future encounters!"

What more did he want? Stoick thought long on what more he could say. "Loudly," he added after a time.

He then narrowed his eyes at the back of Astrid's head as she desperately tried to keep herself from laughing, shook his head, and set his sights on the village. He had almost a whole day of Chiefing to catch up on. But it had been worth it.

* * *

The wind held a calling, a distant beckon to fly over the seas to some distant land…

Apparently. All Dreamer could hear was the impatience of the various dragons saying farewell to their riders. But he _did_ want to go, to see for himself this sacred ritual of dragons to further his understanding of them, and hopefully himself; he was tired of being ignorant.

Fishlegs finished saying goodbye to Meatlug and watched her fly off, then approached the Nightstrikers, wringing his hands. _"Are you _sure_ you want to do this? There'll be… brooding mothers! Protective fathers! Have you got everything you need?"_

Dreamer stood on his hindlegs, patted around himself with his forelegs, then stared wide-eyed at Fishlegs in mock-panic.

_"Oh ha ha, very funny"_ Fishlegs said dryly, glaring at Astrid as she chuckled, her mirth dulled by sadness. _"You know what I mean. We could make a pack or something for you."_

"We not need things," Dreamer said with a roll of his eyes as he dropped back down to all fours. "Also scale-wing-hunters not want attack us there. They doing other things." As long as they stayed out of the way, they would be fine.

Wanderer grunted and flicked his head towards the departing dragons.

"Yes, we go," Dreamer acknowledged, then nodded at the concerned teens and took to the air. They easily caught up with the other dragons as they angled towards the dark blotch on the horizon, a flock of hundreds of dragons.

Dreamer rumbled thoughtfully as they took up a position at the back of the flock, slightly above it where the air was less turbulent in their wake. They weren't flying from the warm-nest, so these dragons hadn't come from there… He also didn't recall any mention of such a huge swarm passing Berk before taking down the Green Death, though someone was bound to have noticed it at some point.

The only explanation he could think of was that these dragons were from new nests, ones started once the queen had been killed and was no longer sucking them all in, figuratively _and_ literally. They _did_ mostly seem to be younger dragons, perhaps ones without the forced desire to return with the spring.

"Hrrr, I think that right," Wanderer mused when he voiced his thoughts. "Too many dragons for warm-nest. They leave, make new nests."

Dreamer continued thinking about it over the course of the long flight, wondering what the different nests would look like… The warm-nest was more or less appropriate for a mix of dragons, but ultimately was the habitat of the Green Death. Presumably, dragons out in the uncharted Archipelago would find places that suited their specific needs.

Something stirred within him, thinking of that, some dormant instinct, but it remained in slumber. He shrugged and dismissed it, quickly forgetting about it.

When the island came into view, he realised he hadn't yet thought of somewhere that _all_ dragons could nest and lay eggs, but when the infinite clouds abruptly broke below him to reveal a large island ringing what looked to be a crater in the ocean itself, he drifted out to the side to get a better view and instantly knew this was where they were headed.

The clear water in the lake was already host to hundreds of dragons, many drinking from it or frolicking in the shallows on the strangely-coloured shore, and it drained off to a pocked area crawling with what seemed like the rocks themselves. Ringing the lake itself was mostly barren rock or sand, and absolutely covered in the bright colours of Nightmares.

A rounded mountain loomed over them, sporting many ledges where the sharp features of Nadders could be seen, many settled in pairs but many more roaming alone and posturing at others. Painted down one side and just about touching one edge of the lake was a dense forest, in which movement could be just about seen through the canopy – in some places, the canopy itself rustled and bowed – which, by process of elimination, must be the Zipplebacks.

Joyous shrieks and roars sounded from the flock as it picked up speed, eager to finish this last leg of the journey and…

Actually, thinking about it, they were probably eager to get on with doing… something else. Something that, now that he had noticed and was trying but failing not to look for, he could see happening all over the island below. Wrrr, what exactly had he been expecting? Closed doors and bedsheets?

The dragons all filtered down to their respective areas once they landed, some swooping down over the lake for a quick drink, and as they neared, the air suddenly became warm and inviting. It was naturally calm here, he noticed, very little wind at all, and the island seemed to radiate heat and created a perpetual updraft, much like the warm-nest.

Dreamer did a little flip in the air, mirroring Wanderer's joyous and playful aerobatics; the warm and steadily rising air was very comfortable and easy to fly in.

They glided over the island for a little while, Wanderer generally following Dreamer and letting him explore as he wanted. They swooped around the mountain, skimmed the lake, brushed the treetops and flew to the far reaches of the island, which was host to some treacherous cliffs and generally barren, rocky hills. There were a few dragons of various kinds picking their way around and playing with each other there, but they were few and far between.

As his initial curiosity and wonder were gradually overcome by the weariness in his wings, Dreamer let the air carry them further up over the middle of the island. "Where we sleep here?" he asked.

"Hrrr, on mountain look good," Wanderer replied thoughtfully, idly looking around below. "Find small place, too small for Spine-Tails."

"Sleep on mountain sound good." As they drifted back down, the teeming mass of vibrant colours of the Nightmares caught Dreamer's attention. "Fire-Scale alpha?" he enquired worriedly, the thought suddenly coming to mind.

"No, he not here," Wanderer reassured him. "I already look. I think he mate at nest, females come here for lay eggs. He not want other male be alpha while he gone."

"Wait, he can do that?" Human biology was fairly straightforward, but Dreamer was having trouble wrapping his head around the intricacies of laying eggs. Did dragons always lay eggs, like chickens? He was tempted to start asking questions, but found himself uncomfortable broaching the topic. Oh well, he could probably work it out himself… by _not_ watching and observing.

He let Wanderer pick out a ledge and dropped down next to him. The ground here wasn't as warm as he had thought it would be, but it certainly wasn't cold. Yes, this was comfortable, if a little open and exposed. He rolled his wings as he folded them and stretched his legs over the ground, purring in satisfaction and relishing the feeling of the stone on his belly.

That earned him a bit of a shove as Wanderer tried to settle and there wasn't quite enough room to do so, as the ledge was small by their own choosing, but after some posturing growls and exaggerated grumbling, they found an acceptable arrangement. Dreamer truly wasn't all that bothered with that such arrangement involved Wanderer laying on him. That's what he was telling himself, anyway.

* * *

A few days into their stay on the island, Dreamer woke to an odd murmur.

For the most part, Wanderer had warned him away from the other dragons as they postured and trilled to each other and generally went at it like rabbits. Instead, he busied himself with flying, exploring the island, rolling in the shallows of the water… _That_ was something he felt like he would never tire of, it was blissfully warm despite the cold ocean around it, and the strange green rock was rough and abrasive.

_Wrrr,_ all rocks were green now, but usually a dull and pale green. The rock ringing the unfathomably deep pool was bright green, almost sickly, but sort of porous, and felt _wonderful_ to rub his scales against. Maybe this was what happened to rock when it was kept hot all the time? No, the forge had been running for generations and showed no sign of this… maybe it needed to be wet…

Dreamer paused in his thinking, realising that it was light and he _could_ think. Right, the strange murmur going on below him, not the constant courting and roaring that they'd been subjected to in every moment of sunlight so far.

He shuffled to let his chin drop off the end of the ledge, blinking blearily and willing his eyes to focus. The constantly writhing mass had settled, almost stilled entirely other than the occasional dragon flying out to sea and back.

Wanderer stirred, distracting him, and a toothy smile crept its way across his face. He grunted, nudging the sleeping dragon with his shoulder, then watched with bated breath as Wanderer withdrew his wing and rolled over-

And scrambled back onto the ledge at the last moment, instantly awake and looking around with wide eyes, pupils narrow slits and claws gripping the stone.

Dreamer managed a strained but cheerful chirp, barely holding back the pressure in his chest that threatened to burst out into raucous laughter.

The narrow eyes focused on him suspiciously as Wanderer gradually relaxed, but Dreamer gestured down to the dragons spread out below them to hopefully distract him. It worked, he glanced down and then took a second, longer look at the calm below. "Hrrr, they start laying eggs today. We can find Storm-Fly this light." He yawned widely, rolling his shoulders and settling back down. "But not go near yet," he added sternly.

"Yes," Dreamer chuffed agreeably, then stretched and shuffled onto his side to enjoy what little heat there was in the rising sky-fire. They'd be here for months, there was no rush.

Once he'd had his fill of lounging around, he climbed to his paws with a yawn and took another look around. Nothing had changed below, which was eerie given how active and volatile the atmosphere had been so far; if he looked closely, he could see the anticipation keeping everything subdued.

"Fly?" he asked.

"Hrrr, you fly," Wanderer replied, rolling onto his back and spreading out. "I want do nothing this light."

"Nothing?" Dreamer chirped, confused, then scented his nose.

"I not sick," he growled back, swatting at Dreamer. "You need learn do nothing some lights. Just enjoy warm sky-fire."

Dreamer huffed, making sure to buffet him with a wing as he took off, flapping high into the air. Though, once up here, he didn't blame his friend for not wanting to leave the warm ground; it _was_ winter after all, of which the freezing air was a stark reminder. In the distance he could also see great clouds and storms in every direction. Something about this place caused the storms to go around it…

Though, of course, if the freeze did go through this area there would be no way to raise young here. They'd probably leave the Archipelago, it was said there were warmer places outside of it; they didn't call it the "Meridian of Misery" for nothing.

Curious, and wanting to work his wings to fight off the chill, Dreamer put on some speed and approached what appeared to be a solid wall of cloud, which was unusual in that it touched the sea. It looked a bit like Helheim's Gate, but not quite as foreboding, and when he neared it, turned out to be not quite such a narrow divide between clear air and fog.

He looked around, marvelling at how far he'd travelled in such a short time. The island was distant, far too distant for even the loudest of roars to be heard with his sensitive ears, but it hadn't taken him long to get here at all. For lack of anything better to do, he cruised around the edge of the calm, occasionally working himself through tight rolls and turns to keep all of himself moving and warm.

Late in the morning, when he was strongly considering flying back to the warmer waters to catch some fish and placate his growling stomach, he came across a small forested island just inside the calm area. It looked about big enough to support some prey, even if only some rabbits, and like the egg-nest-island there seemed to be a pool of water that flowed out into the sea with the same discoloured rock.

Wanderer would be at the height of envy if he returned having caught a few rabbits… Maybe he'd even bring one back. Dreamer let himself drop down almost to the water and skimmed the waves towards the new island.

He caught a smell as he swooped in under the canopy and trotted to a halt on the firm ground, the same sort of warm earthy rock smell of the egg-nest-island. Maybe it was something about the water itself, wherever it came from; certainly not snowmelt, with a lack of a mountain scraping the clouds.

There were a few rabbit trails, but the ground was rocky and their dens secure. He did spot one, but it spotted him in turn and quickly got away. He was following its trail when he came across another trail, one he hadn't expected to find here. A human trail.

What would a human be doing here? How _many_ were here? He quelled his sudden defensiveness with logic, there was no reason to jump to conclusions. Perhaps, with the raids stopped, someone was going out of their way to learn more about dragons. He'd like to meet such a person.

He followed the trail through the forest, picking up little bits of information as he went. There was little to glean from the soles of leather boots, but where a sweaty hand had gripped a branch told him plenty. It was a male, adult, and one with better hygiene than most on Berk.

Soon he didn't need to follow the trail, a casual whistling led him the last third of the distance. He stumbled on a boat before he reached him though, a single-man vessel pulled well into the trees, propped up off the dirt and all its sails stowed. Dreamer did a quick circuit around it, then hopped on board and quickly looked around, finding dried food, which he left alone, canteens of water, sailing equipment, and other such essentials.

One curious object caught his eye, a cylinder with a glass bubble at one end. He'd heard stories of trinkets using glass allowing people to cast their eyes into the distance, and had been meaning to work it out for himself before… all this had happened. _Wrrr,_ no matter, his eyes were more than adequate without it now.

Judging the musk emanating from inside the small hull, that was where the man was sleeping, so it seemed likely he was alone. Dreamer hopped off the craft and crept through the shadows towards the source of the whistling to find its owner.

The man's back was turned, legs dangling off a rock as he fished the sea with a long rod, but he had the typical Viking build; broad shoulders, strong flabby arms, no real neck to speak of. A standard double-bladed axe was slung over his back, and an open-face helmet sat next to him. He wouldn't look out of place in any Viking army, except for the odd helmet. He was downwind, but that didn't matter with humans.

A curious bag with two long loops of leather trailing from it lay open a short distance behind him. He carried no ranged weapons, and Dreamer was fast, if stealth failed him. Creeping forward, Dreamer silently approached the bag and nosed open the hole at the top.

Mostly fishing and hunting gear, it seemed, and in quite good condition. Spare line and some knives sat at the top. Maybe if he…

Something in the bag moved with the sound of glass tapping against glass, and the whistling stopped at the same time Dreamer looked up. The man was staring at him, his face the picture of pure shock.

_Wrrr,_ Dreamer hadn't found anything to suggest ill intentions. By all appearances this man was a simple wayfarer, finding refuge on this small island while ice tore through the rest of the Archipelago…

Curiosity and caution warred with each other. If this man was a danger, or a friend of dragons, it would be better to know about him and anyone he was working with, if possible. But Dreamer had experienced the cruelty that humans were capable of, and would feel a lot more comfortable being curious with his fire. But he had the opportunity _now…_

He took slow steps back while his thoughts frantically tore through the options, and the man quickly broke himself out of his shock to hastily look around himself. No, this was bad, he was probably-

Dreamer paused mid-turn as a small fish was held out to him. _"'Ey there, wee guy,"_ the man cooed, his face soft and excited. _"Ah don' mean you no 'arm. Ya wanna fish?"_

Ears and frills twitching tensely, Dreamer eyed him warily. He paced back and forth a few times, wracked with indecision. To give the chance, or flee and never know?

There was no aggression in the man's posture or expression, he just looked thrilled to be meeting a dragon. Dreamer tested him with a fast and sudden motion to the side, which was met with a subtle lean back, but his hand did not twitch for his axe.

The man seemed to notice him eyeing the weapon, and gently took it from his back by gingerly holding the blade, then let it slide off the rock and down to the ground, out of immediate reach. Dreamer relaxed a bit, feeling he was just being paranoid. But he was still wary as he approached; he did actually want the fish, he was quite hungry.

_"Tha's it,"_ he encouraged gently. _"I ain' gonna 'urt ya, yer a very valuable dragon."_

_Valuable._ Dreamer froze, a feeling of ice washing down his back. _Run!_

He nearly bolted right back the way he had come, but that led past the boat and who knew what else. Right out over the water wasn't much of an option either as he didn't know what was immediately beyond the cliffs. Straight up was fast, but he wouldn't be manoeuvrable.

All this in the time for the man's eyebrows to go up and his jaw tense in regret. Dreamer threw himself sideways, running full-pelt alongside the cliff to get up to speed, then stretched out his wings and threw himself into the air.

Now with the safety of height, Dreamer looked down on the stranger, now standing and looking up at him while scratching his head. He didn't seem to be dangerous directly, he hadn't even gone for his axe, but the calm and reassuring demeanour he had projected had Dreamer shaken. The excitement had clearly been a sign, in hindsight, but that hadn't been obvious at the time.

He shuddered in the air, shaking the lingering chill out of his back, then angled back to the island, to warmer waters where there were fish he could catch himself. Later, when he had calmed down.


	36. Inevitable

A nest of four tiny Spine-Tails, their quills nothing but blunt stubs and their eyes _far_ too big for their heads, which were in turn too big for their bodies, peeped and climbed over each other in trying to escape the little rock basin and get at Dreamer.

Barely a week old, and already curious about the world. Dreamer hummed adoringly, wary of Storm-Fly's intense gaze on him, and crouched low to the ground to shuffle forward.

A sharp beak somehow got a grip on his face almost immediately, though the hatchling was just so _small_ he barely felt it, and it climbed its way onto his head. He stilled, not wanting to jostle the unsteady hatchling and risk it tumbling off, which then allowed its three siblings to follow suit.

The tiny claws digging into his back tickled and itched, urging him to stretch and scratch, but he didn't dare move.

Storm-Fly clucked _amused, mirth,_ and picked up the hatchlings one by one, tossing them back into the basin with a carelessness that almost had Dreamer cringing. But he knew Storm-Fly wasn't a careless or insensitive dam, and the hatchlings just rolled around in the crushed shell fragments and went back to climbing over each other or trying to reach Dreamer while he rubbed his back against the ground.

Kingstail drifted in shortly after with a deep squawk, immediately getting the hatchlings attention. They all reared high, cheeping at the top of their tiny voices and reaching up with their open beaks. The male Nadder quickly engulfed them in his maw, a wet heaving sound more than enough to work out what was going on.

He then looked at Dreamer warily, and leaned in to scent him. "Why you here?" he asked.

"Want see your hatchlings," Dreamer replied, crouching in _submission, not-threat,_ as Kingstail glared at him. "They very good, healthy, very happy," he chirped, shying away; there wasn't any room to retreat to, directly behind him was sheer cliff and to either side were more Spine-Tail families who would be even less accommodating.

Storm-Fly swatted her mate with a wing, then preened his neck. He spared Dreamer a last suspicious look before feeding Storm-Fly her breakfast and taking off again, presumably to fish for a meal to keep for himself. Dreamer was somewhat thankful he had skipped that particular part of dragon upbringing.

A particularly adventurous hatchling managed to climb its way up the little walls trapping the clutch, then hopped over to Dreamer. Storm-Fly initially made to retrieve it, but hesitated, and then settled back down next to the rest of them.

She was trusting him with her hatchling… this tiny, defenceless little Spine-Tail who didn't even know friend from danger. It cheeped happily at him and inspected a paw he held out, then Dreamer's heart melted as it nibbled at his claws. "You already ate," Dreamer cooed playfully, but then suddenly wasn't so sure of that. The other hatchlings were all curled up and dozing, while this one was busily trying to swallow his paw.

"I can feed them?" he chirped at Storm-Fly, dreading the answer; he had no idea what he was doing. "Seems hungry."

Storm-Fly warbled thoughtfully, her head twitching around as if inspecting him. "Yes," she eventually agreed.

Okay… He stared down at the hatchling, but there were no buried instincts to be found. _Wrrr,_ nothing to do but just go for it, he supposed…

Feeling around his own breakfast was still strange, and he wasn't helped by the hatchling quickly recognising what he was doing and trying to shove its open beak into his mouth, tiny wings flared wide. Despite this, he managed to bring up one of the small fish that were found in droves in these waters, and it was snatched from him even as he gagged on it.

Dreamer blinked and vigorously shook his head to rid himself of the sensation; he was still sure he would never get used to that. But as unpleasant as it had been, the hatchling eagerly wolfed it down, swayed drowsily, and curled up where it stood.

He purred in amusement and nudged it with his nose, finally managing to get a decent scent of it. "Is male or female?" he asked Stormfly; he couldn't actually tell, it just smelled young.

"Male," Stormfly replied, confirming his suspicion there was still more to learn. "Bring here."

Dreamer stared at her, then at the hatchling. How was he going to do that?

Of course, this must be why they had retractable teeth, aside from sharpening them every time they slid in or out. He closed his gums down around the fledgling, who slipped out of them without even leaving the ground.

_Confusion, amusement,_ Storm-Fly warbled. "Teeth not hurt him."

Teeth could most _certainly_ hurt him; they had done worse to a much older Spine-Tail. Instead, he shifted his weight back onto his hindlegs and gently grabbed the fledgling in his forepaws. It squawked grumpily at this new way of being carried as Dreamer walked the few steps to the nest on his hindlegs, then carefully lowered the hatchling down to the rest of its clutch. Its complaints quickly ceased as it found a warm little nook to snuggle into, and the hatchlings fidgeted and displaced each other until all were content.

Storm-Fly then shuffled forward a little and encased them in her wings, offering Dreamer a warm warble before settling down around her clutch, and Dreamer hummed appreciatively before hopping off the ledge and flapping into the sky.

"Was seeing Spine-Tail hatchlings how you dreamed?" Wanderer teased, pulling up alongside him. Dreamer chirped agreeably, refusing to react to the taunt. "We need catch more fish?" he asked when there was no further response.

"I could eat," Dreamer agreed; he didn't really need to, but it was something to do.

Wanderer chuffed, then stared searching the sea below. "I not think you would feed," he said conversationally.

"He seemed hungry," Dreamer explained, smiling warmly at the memory.

"That good reason. I feed hatchling that look hungry once." He hummed warmly. "Happy I did."

"Why you give Long-Paw-me fish?" Dreamer asked, thinking of Wanderer giving fish, and gagging at the memory; which was odd, because he quite liked raw fish now.

Wanderer nodded. "Happy I did."

Dreamer thought about that in confusion for a little – then it clicked, and he banked over to swat at his friend even as they flew. "I not was hungry!" he squawked. "Or hatchling!" he added indignantly.

"But you were much small," Wanderer teased with a toothy grin, ducking away and deftly avoiding further assault. "Look very hungry. I feel bad for take your food, you had more need."

Growling at the tail fleeing from him, he chased it in wild paths through the sky, weaving and banking all over the place. It wasn't until much later he was aware of many eyes on them, watching their tight moves and undoubtedly impressive display, many of the parents and some of the hatchlings looking up at them. Probably out of boredom in the case of the former, but then again dragons didn't really seem to get bored.

Dreamer wondered if the latter would take them as role models, even briefly, and have better aptitude for the sky. Maybe time would tell.

* * *

For some reason, Dreamer hadn't wondered _when_ the new dragons would be flying, but probably should have. They grew at an astonishing rate, several times larger over the next few weeks, and then the Nightstrikers were idly catching their breakfast when Dreamer noticed the increased activity in the air.

As had been the case so far, it was a clear day with storms on every horizon that refused to approach the island, though the direct light of the sky-fire would last less than an hour. That didn't bother the Nightstrikers in the slightest, and the other dragons seemed used to it, but it made sense to be fledging their offspring when they could actually see them.

It started slowly, but as Dreamer glided around and watched, more and more dragons joined them in the sky. It got to the point it almost felt crowded, and he had to actually pay attention to where he was flying because there was a real possibility of crashing into someone.

The hatchlings had been flexing their wings since they were born, so it should have been no surprise to see how readily they took to the air, but Dreamer was still a little taken aback. His first flight had been maybe fifteen feet at best. These fledglings were leaping out over open ocean and easily drifted back the half-mile or so, though they were at least that high up. Some of the Nightmares were even overshooting the mark and landing on the mountain, and as Dreamer watched, one went beyond that and had to be guided back.

The Stone-Scales probably had it easiest here; while their fledglings frequently crashed into each other they didn't have much chance of drifting very far apart, as might be the case of the other dragons.

Dreamer did not envy these parents as the morning progressed in a sort of practised chaos. Fledglings at least seemed to know where their nests were, though frequent cries of _afraid, lost,_ were undoubtedly leading parents to stragglers. He recalled how easily he had picked out Storm-Fly's unique call in the warm-nest, however noisy it got.

And there certainly was a lot of noise, newly fledged dragons roaring their success and happiness in their cute little voices, their sires and dams roaring their own joy and flying with them.

Chaotic as it was, there was a general flow to it, as hatchlings leaped off their parents' backs or from their mouths and sometimes fell a short way before finding their wings. As such, the exception caught Dreamer's attention, a small shape flapping ineffectually as it plummeted through the air.

Dread quickly overwhelmed Dreamer's jubilant mood. He watched, stunned, as the little Zippleback got upright at the last moment, flipped over backwards, and disappeared into the choppy waves.

Dreamer squawked in alarm and angled towards where it had vanished, it was a distance away but Nightstrikers were fast! But before he could get up to any speed, Wanderer swooped up in front of him with a _stern, harried_ expression. Dreamer could only pull up and screech _need, haste, fear!_

_Stern, pleading, sad,_ Wanderer crooned, putting himself in front of Dreamer's every attempt to get around him. "What you think you do?"

"I help!" Dreamer shouted at him. There was still a chance, he might still be able to make it!

"How?" Wanderer responded with a bark for emphasis. "You get it out of sea, then do what? Dam not can mind hatchling now when minding fledglings." Dreamer stared at him, breaths heavy in his chest but shocked into silence by the angry slits in his wide eyes. "He not can fly back to nest, you carry him, yes, feed until he can fly, think is all good!" Wanderer continued, speaking Dreamer's objections before his mind could make them. "It _not_ good!" he almost screeched. "No female want bad flier for mate! Bad flier not have good hunting! Not can protect self! Not can protect fledglings here, now! Just feel bad for whole life until killed in stupid fight!"

Dreamer simmered, hovering there in front of Wanderer, totally overwhelmed. He had no argument to the sheer cold _logic_ suddenly presented to him, besides which it was now undoubtedly too late. Moments. That was all it had taken. It felt like a life should be worth more than that.

He lowered his head with a snarl of pure frustration, then threw himself backwards and flew as if he could escape the shriek of his own wings cutting through the wind.

* * *

Wanderer breathed a sigh of relief as Dreamer finally returned, late into the night; there was only one other small-land to sleep on, barring the isolated and exposed tall-rocks jutting from the sea, and it was apparently home to a dangerous Long-Paw. He let out a _tentative, pleased_ warble as he alighted on the small ledge.

"I think about what you say," Dreamer said as he carefully arranged himself at the edge, tail draped over the side, to leave a small distance between them. "I still not agree."

"It difficult lesson," Wanderer sighed quietly, laying his head on his paws.

"I still could _try,"_ he persisted. "Things different now in Long-Paw nest."

Wanderer grunted, unconvinced. "We still fly, hunt, play. We still wing-hunters. What us when wings fail us, also not have good hunting?"

"I was-"

"Runt, yes," Wanderer cut him off, feeling thorny at how little Dreamer seemed to think of his old self. "This not like that. This like… you not could walk for…" _Rrr,_ how long did Long-Paws take to grow up? They were such slow creatures in many ways. "Eight season-cycles." He sighed again as Dreamer remained unconvinced. "Flying not just thing wing-hunters do. It thing we need. Grounded wing-hunter is easy prey."

"So we just let them die?" Dreamer growled.

"I not like it," Wanderer growled right back, "but better than living with no life. Better than having hatchlings that also not can fly." He huffed at Dreamer, then waited until he was looking. "You grounded, hunted, hurt, afraid. You not want live."

Dreamer growled at him, eyes narrowing to angry slits. "Not turn that on me!"

Wanderer blinked, momentarily caught off-guard by the strange arrangement of words, but caught the general meaning. "That how you want that hatchling live. Always fear, hunger, pain. You not want live that."

They lay there in tense silence. Wanderer knew he wasn't going to sleep easily, but nor did he want to fly. So he just lay there, looking down on the various wing-hunters and their freshly fledged offspring.

"I…" Dreamer sighed, and turned to look at him with pained but gentle eyes. "I not say I could fly those winds better than you," he said quietly, and Wanderer winced; he supposed he had been too specific in frantically trying to reason with him for his clever Dreamer to miss that detail. "But things different now. Maybe not enough, but we not know if we not try."

Wanderer let out a low moan, vocalising the tempest of _pain, sorrow, regret_ he felt within to clear his head a bit. "We fledglings also," he reminded Dreamer. "We still fledglings when these clutches fly their nest. That not thing we can do now." He lifted his head and shuffled so that he was laying proudly, as he remembered his sire doing when watching for threats. "I know you dream, curious Nightstriker. I will follow you into hunter jaws, if you want go."

He chuffed. "Even if I think I then need save you from hunter jaws. But…" Deflating a little, he looked down at the sleeping families below. "This not thing I can save you from. Maybe you, clever Dreamer, could save hatchling too weak for fly. Maybe you could make them happy, make their hatchlings strong. But I not want you feel that pain if you not can do. I… not want feel that pain again." He offered a tentative nuzzle, though Dreamer flinched slightly at his touch. "You not can fix all bad things."

Dreamer warbled neutrally, perhaps understanding but not wanting to accept it. That was progress. It was also possible he was intending on spending the next three seasons planning for the next cold season's clutches, but that was fine also. It was simply Dreamer's way, and he would change targets if a bigger thing to fix came up.

They lay awake for a long time, but Wanderer eventually did drift into sleep. And, as he fidgeted just before the sky-fire kindled, he groggily discovered they'd snuggled up to each other at some point in the night, his head nestled into Dreamer's chest with Dreamer curled up around him. Though there was activity from the others on the small-land, the world starting to wake, he draped a wing over them both and settled back down with a purr.

* * *

Could it be a product of imagination that the air smelled crisper, the sun felt warmer, and the island of Berk looked more inviting than ever?

Probably, but Dreamer didn't care. The winter had been long, and while sleeping out in the open had been nice, he was longing for the security and safety of a secluded cave. Even more so after spending a whole day trying to head off dragons trying to abandon their fledglings at the warm-nest and then screeching _danger_ to those they had missed or who had tried anyway. Thankfully, Storm-Fly and the other Berkian dragons, at least the ones they had convinced previously, had got the message and did not try again.

_"Hiccuuuuup!"_ came a loud, drawn-out call in Fish-Legs' voice, drawing attention to the rotund Viking standing at the top of the docks. _"…Toothyyy!"_ came a slightly less enthusiastic call a long moment later, as Fish-Legs presumably realised he needed to address both of them equally.

Wanderer snorted in amusement, unfazed by if he was acknowledged by the teen or not.

Actually, not a teen for long. Their year group was eighteen with the spring, and officially adults. That would mean very little for Fish-Legs and Astrid, both already contributing greatly to the tribe, but Snotlout and the twins would be pushed more firmly into contributing now, and would also have more say in Things among their own families.

And the Nightstrikers were now three. Those years simultaneously felt the longest Dreamer had ever lived, and yet somehow also the shortest, as if they'd dragged on in the moment but were now distant and inconsequential in memory.

_"Where'd you go off to!?"_ Fishlegs asked in a harried tone as they landed, trotting up to them and stopping just out of reach.

Dreamer ignored him in favour of busily stretching his wings and body. They hadn't hung around for the Berkian dragons that had still needed convincing, and Nightstrikers were fast, but it had still been a lot of flying over the last two days what with their stop at the warm-nest.

He was only finding out what Fishlegs wanted, and then they would-… Nope, scratch that, Wanderer just huffed and trotted back to the cliff, then hopped into the air and coasted towards their den. "We fly far," Dreamer offered tiredly.

_"But where?"_ Fishlegs squeaked._ "Why? When half the dragons didn't come back, we were worried!"_

_Wrrr,_ Dreamer hadn't expected the flock to split up like that, though he really should have. "Stop scale-wing-hunters leave fledglings at warm-nest."

Fishlegs stared into the distance, working his way through the words until realisation dawned. _"Oh! Oh, yeah, that makes sense. So what was it like there? Were there lots of Gronckles? How did they deal with the cold? What was there to eat? What did they feed their hatchlings?"_

The barrage of questions continued until Dreamer groaned tiredly at him. "I want sleep. Any thing I should know?"

_"But, but…! Fiiiine… Uh… yeah, actually. Heh, it's kind of a funny story. So, you know the dragons we picked out to send to the other tribes?"_ He waited patiently for an answer, though Dreamer just glared at him and wished he'd get on with it. _"…Yeah? Well, I realised over winter, two of them are female. Not a big deal though, we'll just have to replace them with some of the males we've already got."_

Dreamer continued staring until he realised the problem. "They not can leave fledglings," he groaned; while the sire was free to leave with the spring, the dam would stay with the fledglings as far as through summer, from what he had seen. At least they already had a plan around it.

_"Yeah, Bjorn doesn't really want to go but Stoick's probably going to order him to it."_

"That good," Dreamer sighed. "I need say thing also." He walked to the cliff and looked down at the docks to the small scene that was already unfolding below. "You should get alpha," he suggested.

_"What? Wait, is that a Thunderdrum? Ohhh Thor, oh Thor, what's it doing here!?"_

"Follow us back," Dreamer mused. It had spotted them on the last leg of the flight and skimmed the water below after making itself known.

_"Why aren't you more worried? Wait, is that _the_ Thunderdrum?"_

"Yes," Dreamer chuffed. Looked like his sire would be getting a dragon after all, which gave him a giddy, happy feeling.

_"Huh. Yeah, I'll go get him. Oh, but before you go, there's one more thing you should know about this year…"_

* * *

Long-Paws did many strange things; they went to the effort of catching prey only to toss it into a den and leave it there for anyone to take, left prey alive apparently to just watch it eat, mutilated trees in a variety of ways, shaped trees into strange shapes and _then_ mutilated them, let water go to rot before drinking it, the list went on and on and on.

But today, what looked like every Long-Paw in the nest was crowded around the wing-hunter dens to watch just a pawful of fledglings play. It was absurd.

Wanderer let his head fall to his paws with a groan as the Long-Paws cheered and Dreamer winced. The fledgling-alpha, _Astrid,_ had just fallen off a wide tree, which was really no surprise with it being on its side and spinning rapidly. The rock-head, _Snotlout,_ was the last standing on the tree, and hopped down while waving to the masses surrounding the hole in the rock.

One of the Long-Paws sitting upon a tall rock hummed incoherently into a metal thing that distorted what were presumably words, and the crowd called out again. Now they were removing the spinning tree and setting up some trees that had been taken apart and put back together to look like trees again, fat and short ones with no branches. Some of them had round marks on the ends. The fledglings then took turns throwing claws at the trees to more shouts and jubilant cries from the crowd.

Dreamer suddenly roared happily, and watched with a goofy grin as another Long-Paw used a stick to make a mark on a wall. Incomprehensible Long-Paw logic. Wouldn't it be more fun and productive to be throwing claws themselves, instead of watching the fledglings do it? It was just as important for adults to play, to continue improving their fighting skills and to stay strong and healthy. Dam had told him many times to remain playful, as it was very attractive to potential mates, which only made sense.

Unlike whatever was going on here.

"You not want know what happening?" Dreamer asked, though his attention was on the scene below them.

"Hrr, yes," Wanderer replied, lifting his head again to better look down at the fledglings as they talked heatedly with one another. "I want know when this will stop, not can sleep with this noise." Were it not for Dreamer, he would be somewhere out on the wind by now, or perhaps sprawled out on a rock basking in the warm sky-fire.

Dreamer snorted at him and stood to stretch his wings. "Younger fledglings do things now, for most this light." He then purred heartily. "This season-cycle, there more things next light. Things with scale-wing-hunters!" He bounced excitedly. "I think we would win, if not hatch again. Could finally…" There were several incoherent grumbles with an underlying growl.

Wanderer stretched and yawned, then hopped off the narrow ledge and soared up around the west side of the big small-land, towards their old den. He wanted to sleep and relax, with their imminent shedding it was important to get much rest now while they still could; he could already feel it scratching under his hide.

"Show me word-marks," Dreamer requested, pulling up alongside him. "Yes, then we can sleep."

"Why?" Wanderer huffed; he would prefer to go straight to doing the latter.

"I want use them now," Dreamer explained. "Need talk. Stop bad thoughts."

Another Dreamer thing. "Yes," he agreed, then landed on the little beach and proved to Dreamer he could arrange multiple Long-Paw word-marks in the sand without assistance. Sure, it was only explaining that he was hungry and wanted fish, but what else would he want to say to them, if even that?

Dreamer purred happily, then pounced at him. He reflexively leaped away, suddenly energetic in their race around the beach, but Dreamer caught him quickly and promptly held him down to drag claws down his back. "Why you run?" he asked cheekily.

A contented groan was all Wanderer could manage as the claws soothed the deep itches he could not easily reach himself. Yes, their shedding was only nights away, but they had each other to help them through it.

* * *

Astrid ignored the latest jab from Snotlout, something lame about eating his dust and then wanting to go out with him later. _Ugh,_ she knew there was a decent Viking under there somewhere – somewhere very, very deep – but he needed to learn to brag _after_ the fact. Well, he no doubt would do that as well, but bragging before _and_ after was just going to be irritating.

Which he would, were he going to be the one to actually win this. So she simply stretched and examined the crude map drawn on the wall, totally ignoring him.

"The route be as so," Much explained, tapping the map with an old broom handle. "Yeh run from here back ter the village, then down ter the bottom cliff where yer dragons be waitin'. _If,"_ and this part he stressed with a look at Astrid, "yer dragon does no stay there, tha's yer own responsibility. There be no do-overs."

Astrid smirked; Snotlout's disobedient dragon would not get him out of losing to her, she had made sure of it.

"Once yeh get on yer dragon, fly southeast ter the flagship, then back through the sea stack maze, an' back 'ere. On yer marks, ge' set…" _Clang!_

Astrid was off the moment Mulch's hook connected with Bucket's bucket, though much to her chagrin, Snotlout was even faster off the mark. He pulled ahead, and though she quickly got herself up to a comfortable speed, he was still slightly faster. That would only come back to bite him though, Astrid had run this journey many times and knew that pacing was key.

The cheering of the crowd faded behind them, though she could still feel her father's eyes on her. He had been only encouraging, but there was a veiled excitement to him, a life to his eyes she had not seen since… since her mother died.

She put a hand to the axe at her belt, with her even now, that had belonged to the amazing woman, given to Astrid as a gift when she first started Dragon Training. She hoped she was watching from Valhalla, to see her _finally_ beat the crude and boastful Jorgenson family, who had never lost a Thawfest Games as far back as anyone knew.

As they entered the village proper, Astrid had to slow down a bit. Snotlout was _still_ sprinting_,_ somehow keeping up this brutal pace, and she was unwittingly matching him. Flying hard was a strenuous task, she couldn't afford to wear herself out now.

Still, it hurt to watch him slowly pull further and further ahead, and she could imagine Mulch calling it out back at the ring, her father drooping in disappointment but still urging her on.

But this was where it would turn around. She reached the bottom of the village, unfortunately devoid of a confused and frantic Snotlout wondering where his dragon had gone, and threw herself onto Stormfly's back, strapping herself in even as they took off.

She urged Stormfly forward, towards the distant speck that was Hookfang's giant wings taking huge strokes of the air. He already had quite the lead, but it wouldn't help him. _"Come on girl…"_

The wind pressed against her, pulled at her, whipped around her and battered her as she huddled to her dragon's back. Being unable to see forwards with the invisible assault, she peered to the side to try to get an idea of how far they were – and was surprised to see a Fury gliding next to her.

His eye turned to look at her, and his face perked, though he did not turn his head. Then his mouth curled into an eerie smile, full of teeth, and he flapped hard and quickly pulled past her. _Show-off…_

The turn around the boat squashed her into the saddle, and in the brief reprieve before they picked up speed again she was able to find Snotlout ahead of her, but much closer. She'd closed well over half the distance, and success boiled in her veins. "Not this time, Jorgenson!" she shouted at him, though there was no chance of him hearing.

They were suddenly in the sea stacks, and Snotlout's lack of foresight was costing him. He trained the same way he worked out, for pure strength alone, because that was the Viking way; become strong enough to smash any obstacle, whatever its nature.

On the other hand, Astrid saw the value in leverage. Approach them from the right angle, and even larger problems could be overcome; such as a maze of sea stacks, far too solid to be ploughing through on a dragon.

Even still, he wasn't _bad,_ and Hookfang was big. They were hogging all the room, and it was difficult to get around them.

Then Hookfang clipped a sea stack which turned out to be less solid than it seemed, taking the impact with his legs and carrying on, and Astrid was forced to swerve aside from a cascade of boulders.

Working through the far side of the maze, she had further to fly but there was nobody in front of her; she should have done this in the first place. They powered through, weaving and rolling in what Astrid liked to think was a fair comparison to Hiccup's apparent first flight on Toothless.

They abruptly emerged into open air, suddenly leaving behind the cramped confines of the maze. Snotlout was _right there._

He watched her with dread written all over his face as she passed him. She just stared at him levelly, then streamlined herself and urged Stormfly forward.

They passed the finish line to raucous cheering and applause, Stormfly braking hard and trotting to a halt. She took a moment to catch her breath and work some strength back into her muscles before undoing the clasps, then dropped to the ground as Hookfang ducked through the finish line and skidded to a stop.

The village was going _wild,_ and she was quickly grabbed from her feet and thrown into the air in celebration. This felt almost as glorious as winning the old Dragon Training would have, but infinitely preferable, knowing what she did now.

Behind her, as she was carted away, she neither noticed nor cared about Snotlout, white as a sheet as he dropped from his dragon. The only person who noticed him was his father, who simply sighed and turned away to walk into the crowd.

* * *

That was a Thawfest Games nobody would forget, and it was about time someone took that Jorgenson whelp down a few notches; that family was insufferable at the best of times. So it was with high spirits that Gobber entered the forge and tossed his hook onto a bench, eager to catch up on the day's smithing-

And then stumbled back with a surprised shout at the Night Fury sat on the bench at the back, hunched over something in the relative darkness. It looked up at him with a decidedly unfriendly expression for just a moment before going back to what it was doing.

…What _was_ it doing? Probably not what he had been badgering Fishlegs and Tuffnut for since last year, both of them just kept telling him it wasn't that simple and that he had to wait; didn't they know how much iron he had lost to rust since then, how many locks and fittings he'd had to replace?

Speaking of whom, he looked around but didn't see either of them, or the other Fury. This one appeared to be here on its own. But doing what?

He edged closer, peering at the yellowing sheet in front of it, a bit of old paper it looked like. It was _writing_ on it. A dragon. _Writing._ Hearing about it and seeing it were very different things. How the world had changed, would his next apprentice be a lizard too?

Whatever it was doing, it finished fairly quickly. It wiped its claw on the bench, licked it clean, then drove all of its claws point-first into the paper, piercing it. The Fury then stalked along the bench to Gobber and shoved the paper into his chest, the sharp claws painfully pricking into his skin through his shirt.

Stunned, Gobber reflexively brought his hand up and abruptly found himself holding the paper to his shirt as the dragon leaped straight from the bench, jumped off the counter and flapped away.

He watched it go with his mouth hanging open for a full minute before remembering the paper. He had to squint to read the crude letters, and many words had been misspelled and occasionally crossed out and written another way, but it was legible. More legible than he would credit most Vikings with.

_Us both know someone who gone,_ the letter started. _I know he think you very good. Talk about you much. You like father for him._

A strange mix of feelings bubbled in Gobber's somewhat large gut. A warm happiness, because he had suspected Hiccup had looked up to him but never known for sure. But also a cold dread, for the Fury's demeanour had been anything but friendly.

_He want my kind and your kind live happy together. Me and brother want also. Not want be hunted._

_Not want be trapped in your den, be give to bad person. He starve us, hurt us, try make us slaves. I still have bad dreams. Now you want more? We not prey for you take things from. _

_I disappointed our friend wrong about you._

He read the note again. And again. Then he went into the back room and poured a mug of ale from his 'one of those days' stash, then read it again. It just didn't feel real. He wanted to burn it and forget it as impossible nonsense, but he'd seen the dragon writing it himself; the ink was smeared a little where he'd grabbed it while it was still wet.

He didn't know what to make of it. He didn't _want_ to make anything of it, he was just a blacksmith; he did a lot of other things, sure, but a smith was who he was. But whatever he told himself, he remained uneasy, almost constantly aware of the old sheaf of paper as he continued working. As noon came, after a slow eternity, he caved in and retrieved it, started to read it, but then threw it into the forge. It still felt like the ashes were staring accusingly at him.

As the forge died out while the sun set, he packed up his tools and retrieved a barrel of mead, then headed straight for his old drinking buddy. The Thunderdrum, lounging in the lean-to that had been built onto the Chief's house, snorted at him as he approached, causing him to jump. Since when had he jumped at dragons? He thumped on the door with a scowl.

Stoick opened the door, took one look at the barrel, and permitted him inside.

Gobber didn't remember much of the night – he at least hoped he hadn't talked about Hiccup, but strongly suspected he had – but when he woke the next morning in Stoick's living room, his friend gave him a pitying look. And a block of ice, which was appreciated.

He eventually arrived at the forge to find Tarbon already hard at work, to whom he grunted a rough greeting, and then noticed a jar pinning down a scrap of paper on the back bench which had been kept clear. The jar contained swirls of froth suspended in something clear, and the note, in jagged and messy runes, simply said 'We _give_ this, because we remember him.'

And just like that, Gobber felt another round of drinking coming on.

* * *

_"He thinks he's people…!"_ There were some muted laughs, then frantic, giggling shushes.

Dreamer cast an amused glance over to where Ruffnut was hiding behind a wagon, then turned back to his sire's house. He didn't want to be eavesdropping by the door, which was slightly ajar, but by standing on his hindlegs at the foot of the stairs he was at the right height to just about pick up what was going on inside. Most of it, anyway.

Quiet footsteps announced Wanderer approaching. He looked at Dreamer, cocked an ear at the house, then stood up to listen as well. Suppressed wheezing laughter suddenly sounded from the wagon, behind which they could see Ruffnut's helmet and Astrid's hair, but they were only making it a little harder to listen in.

Bjorn, who had been sent to Meathead Island a few days after Astrid had wrenched the Thawfest Games from the Jorgensons' meaty fingers, had returned the same day. He immediately went under scrutiny, as it was well known he hadn't wanted the job, but he insisted he was turned away.

When the next rider had returned from the Lava Louts with the same story, it was clear something was awry. Everyone begrudgingly admitted Bjorn had probably been telling truth, then quickly moved on to what to do next.

That was when the third rider had arrived from the Bashem Oiks. They had been met with swords and bolas, but quick reflexes had got the pair out of harm's way.

So Stoick had made a quick decision to take his first journey on Thornado to visit the Bog Burglars in person. They had the strongest relationship to the Hairy Hooligans, probably even more so now with Astrid next in line for Chief, and they were the second to nearest tribe, after the Meatheads.

_"Yeah, she caught them,"_ Stoick was explaining. _"Weeded them out somehow, as Bog Burglars do. Surprised they got in in the first place…"_

_"Another Outcast?"_ Spitelout asked incredulously, and what was probably an obscene curse was lost under Wanderer's quiet growl.

_"Aye, spreading nonsense about us spying and sabotaging."_

It was Dreamer's turn to growl angrily. Why would anyone be so vehemently opposed to progress? How were some petty personal gains worth more than the benefit of all the tribes in the Archipelago?

And the nature of it… Could Alvin _still_ be alive and causing trouble?

He flexed the claws that had raked through the despicable man's face. Injured, but they hadn't watched him perish. It was possible, however unlikely, that he had survived the fall and either swam to shore or been picked up.

Dreamer took a long breath to calm himself. This was supposed to be _over,_ things were supposed to be better this year, just enjoying their last few months as fledglings while all his plans carried themselves out. And then they would be firelings, and he could do even _more._

He listened to them discuss visiting the other tribes; some they probably would, and others they wouldn't. Their reputation among the tribes who _had_ accepted the gift would eventually spread, and as all had been given equal opportunity there could be no complaints.

A deep itch crept down his neck and shoulder, and he sat down to scratch at it with his hindclaws. If the numb surface of his hide wasn't enough of a hint, there was a faint tearing sensation around his flanks as he stretched, relieving a little of the tightness around his hindquarters.

Yes, shedding season was upon them. He sighed, resigned to nights of restless sleep and lights of desperate biting and clawing, though it did seem it was becoming more tolerable with each year; he was itchy, but it wasn't the deep stinging that it had been in previous years.

_Wrrr,_ might as well get started. He chirped at Wanderer and licked his lips. First, a feast of fish, and then two days of hiding away while they renewed themselves.

* * *

It was not like it had been with the Berserkers. This time, when the spears and arrows were stockpiled, the catapults tested, reserve weapons sharpened, there was talk. A lot of it.

As the days grew warmer and longer, there was a building tension in the village. It was blindingly obvious with a Nightstriker's senses, everyone talking with an edge of haste and walking faster through the village.

Dreamer chose convenient roofs to lounge on to watch his sire more carefully, noticing the frequent meetings with Spitelout, how he kept a firmer grip on everything and everyone. It wasn't a tension or stiffness he moved with, but rather an air of authority and calm that had everyone leaping to obey without question. As far as he could tell though, Stoick didn't actually know what was coming, just that something _was._

They would never be asked to, and out of the trust the Hooligans had with the other tribes he probably wasn't going to share what he found, but he had to know. He and Wanderer sped away from Berk, towards Meathead Island.

Even their dark shapes would not be visible as high in the bright sky as they were, but with their eyes they could get an idea of what was going on below. It initially looked to be a typical bustle of activity, but while they were much too far to pick up any voices or read postures, there were a lot of crates and weapons being moved around, and large longboats being rotated through the harbour which pointed to something going on.

But the question was, what were they preparing for? An attack on someone else, or one expected on themselves?

Dreamer growled uneasily and barked at Wanderer with a toss of his head, and they screamed through the air to the next village. The Berserkers were actively fighting each other, their boats scattered around the island and many damaged, so nothing was going on there. The Lava Louts however were as busy as the Meatheads, and then the Nightstrikers were forced to stop and rest for the night.

The next day, Dreamer led to the Bashem Oiks and was initially discouraged by the heavy rain sweeping across their seas, but soon realised this would allow for a far closer look at their typical day activities. They approached low to the sea, mere shadows under the black clouds above. The village was built at the top of a cliff, much like Berk, but backed by long sweeping pastures brimming with livestock. No issue for a Nightstriker, they simply skirted the cliffs and ducked into an alley between two buildings overlooking the sheer drop.

Even through the heavy rain, the stink of burning coals and hot iron permeated the air. Everyone was so busy that Dreamer was fairly certain none would have noticed him watching from the shadows even were he bright green; he could all but walk out among them and none noticed anything of their presence, though he remained highly cautious.

As they watched, a boat was loaded up with armour and cast off into the rain. They followed, first following the cliffs away from the village and then labouring high into the air.

Its journey was slow, but it met a Lava Lout boat at an intermediary island late in the afternoon and their cargos were swiftly swapped.

Dreamer was getting a bad feeling about all this. That hadn't been an ordinary trade of excess, but a prearranged deal, tribes readily cooperating with each other towards some larger goal.

He grumbled his concern, and Wanderer growled; even he, with his limited understanding, didn't think this felt right.

But what exactly had they learned? The other tribes were preparing much as Berk was, that didn't mean anything. He turned everything over in his head as they sped back home, but all they had accomplished was making themselves nervous over what was to come.

* * *

Dreamer found it increasingly difficult to relax as the weeks wore into summer, the tension a growing pressure in his chest that refused to abate. He pushed himself harder, filling the days with play that was usually far too serious to be called play, viciously fighting Wanderer on the ground and in the air, roughing with Stormfly's entire clutch at once.

At one point he found himself growling irritably at himself, his headache, and the mostly empty Great Hall; for some reason, it hadn't occurred to him to leave and find somewhere quiet, like he _wanted_ to be irritable or something.

_"Keep it to yeself,"_ his sire growled as he walked past to return a half-eaten bowl of porridge.

Dreamer responded with a snarl, aggressively flattening his ears and frills.

_"You heard me,"_ Stoick snapped on the way back, lightly kicking him in the chest with the side of his boot as he passed.

Not quite in control of himself, Dreamer lashed out, catching his sire's heel and knocking it out of its stride. Stoick stumbled, stood there for a few moments, then slowly turned and loomed over Dreamer, looking down on him with a stern and displeased expression.

Long ago, that would have cowed him to his core, just like it did most of the village. But with who he was now, and on this particular day, his blood was boiling too much to submit. He rose to all fours, then slowly reared onto his hindlegs and loomed over his father to growl in his face. _Make me,_ he challenged wordlessly.

For just a heartbeat, Stoick's eyes widened in surprise as he looked up at him. In the next, he had a hand around Dreamer's foreleg, the other under his ribs, and then Dreamer was crashing through a table; he barely felt it.

He shook off the splinters and charged with a roar, leaping at his sire and sending them rolling over each other. Dreamer landed on top, pressing heavily down on his chest and growling-

A heavy punch struck him in the neck, and then the base of his wing was grabbed and pulled aside and down. _"Already seen that one!"_ Stoick shouted as he pulled Dreamer to the ground.

More than a few tables were wrecked, some irreparably, in their stress-fuelled roughhousing. It felt like they'd been at it for hours. Dreamer panted heavily, his head held to the wall at an uncomfortable angle by the firm grip on his ear, his sire unwilling to let go even with claws digging into his armpit.

As if at some invisible signal, they slumped against each other and to the ground.

_"Hah, whew, think I, needed that,"_ Stoick mumbled breathlessly.

Dreamer murmured his assent, just now noticing his headache had subsided. He ached with a thousand bruises, but that was far more tolerable.

_"Whoo! That was awesome!"_

Dreamer raised his head to see the twins sat on a nearby table, munching on what looked like baked potato slices out of a large bowl.

If only… "Grrrrr…rhah!"

_"Whoops! Time to go!"_ Tuffnut grabbed his sister's arm and ran for their lives, swiftly emptying the room of themselves with a practised haste.

Dreamer sighed and rested his head on his sire's shoulder.

_"…Did you just try to breathe fire?"_ Stoick asked him, and he grunted in reply. _"…Is… that a thing you're going to have soon?"_

He sure _hoped_ so, and grunted another affirmative. Wanderer had said it would happen this hot-season, though it was still only the first month. It almost felt like he _should_ be able to, but he was never able to get anything to happen. Not the tiniest spark, not the faintest burp.

_"…Good. That'll be a relief… for both of us… I think."_

Dreamer purred and let his head slide down to his sire's leg, then purred louder as a large hand stroked his tender ear and neck. A pity it was too warm to curl up around his sire – too warm for his sire, not for him of course – but he suspected it wouldn't be appreciated anyway.

Regardless, he found the best sleep he'd had in weeks in that unlikely position.

* * *

As the hot-season continued to wear on and still nothing happened, the fighting died down, the arguments quietened, and Wanderer started to think this was all just stupid Long-Paw paranoia.

He wished they'd waited until he had his fire in full to panic like this, at least then it wouldn't be as contagious. While he _had_ managed a single blast, it was small and weak; it would take a little more time to start replenishing at a practical rate.

Then he'd be far more relaxed. But then, he also probably wouldn't have been obsessively aware of his surroundings, and wouldn't have noticed the Spine-Tail and accompanying Long-Paw returning to the nest.

He swerved in his flight over to Dreamer and gestured behind them to the new arrival, and Dreamer hummed warily as he led them around.

The Spine-Tail drifted over the nest, both he and his rider calling out, then swooped down at an answering call. The Nightstrikers silently alighted on a nearby den and peered down on them.

_"Lots of ships!"_ the Long-Paw wheezed, through heavy breaths. _"Coming here!"_

_"Who?"_ asked Dreamer's sire, for that was of course who he had been looking for.

_"All of them!"_

"I want see," Dreamer asserted as the scene below them exploded into shouts and activity, and Wanderer dipped his head in solemn agreement.

Unlike Long-Paws, Nightstrikers did not require vast amounts of time and _things_ to do something, and immediately set off towards the still-rising sky-fire. Wanderer counted absently as they flew, having become somewhat familiar with 'ship' travel times and how many lights it would take one to travel somewhere, though their sideways wings could not always take the most direct route.

He was only up to two lights when the figures became visible on the horizon, squared shapes conspicuous against the chaotic surface of the sea. That became three or four lights by the time they reached the swarm, but that was not much of a comfort.

"Too many…" Dreamer was staring down at them with a defeated awe.

Wanderer warbled a numb agreement. He guessed he could count two pawfuls for every claw he had, and not run out of ships.

The lead ship caught his attention, and he snarled angrily at it. The dark trees it was made from and the faded 'sail' were indicative of 'Outcast' Long-Paws, with their despicable alpha and his rancid intentions. There was something odd about the surface of the ship, but it was hard to see what from here.

_Grrr,_ Wanderer was _done_ with being hunted. "When night," he growled to Dreamer, "I hunt."

Dreamer silently watched down on the lead ship, his face unreadable. "I also," he eventually growled, his ears and frills sweeping back aggressively. Wanderer purred darkly at that; his Dreamer was finally learning, and it would be comforting to have a partner to hunt this prey. "But we should tell nest."

They would be more tired from flying back and forward… but the lights were long, they would have time for much rest before the hunt, so he chuffed agreeably and they turned back to the nest.

* * *

That night blessed them with not only darkness, not quite being the depth of summer, but dark cloud cover with a spattering of rain, fat droplets that thumped against the Nightstrikers' hides and wings as they skimmed the choppy waves.

Dreamer was hungry, as was Wanderer. They had not eaten since dawn, and with the long days and all the flying they had done, their bodies were crying out for sustenance. Being natural hunters, it instinctively sharpened their senses and fed fire into their limbs.

Alvin had had too many chances. He had lost a hand, a leg, the skin off his head, and most likely an eye after their last encounter. He knew they were intelligent. If all of that was not enough to stop him, if he was _still_ stirring up the Archipelago for his own selfish motives, it was time for him to go.

There was a slight chance it wasn't actually Alvin they were hunting, in which case Dreamer would call off the hunt – that was a small part of why he was coming – but he didn't think so. Everything going on practically _reeked_ of him.

They approached from an oblique angle, far enough from the other ships to reduce the likelihood of being spotted, but not so far out in front as to be spotted by anyone watching forward. Not that he didn't trust their dark scales, but it was simple to minimise that risk.

Their wings flared at the last moment and rapidly slowed them, tails caressing the air to hold them at _just_ the right angle and height to silently latch on to the rail. After peering over it to ensure the coast was clear, they slipped over and onto the deck.

Emerging into the midst of several large cages arrayed in an odd maze, strangely enough with no bottoms to them. What on Midgard did Alvin intend to do with _those?_ There were too many for just the Nightstrikers, but not enough for all of Berk's dragons. Perhaps just the ones he knew about? Or maybe he intended to put more than one in a cage, they would probably fit two Spine-Tails at a push…

But it was irrelevant, as he wouldn't get the chance.

Two silent assassins in the night, they moved swiftly to the rear of the ship, trading silence for speed with the rain masking the clicks of their claws. The claws that would soon be raking through flesh and ripping out the life that inhabited it.

A necessity.

Conveniently and as anticipated, the trapdoor was open to vent the stuffy cabin. Wanderer took a moment to poke his head in before dropping down, and Dreamer followed, climbing down the ladder head-first by grabbing the sides.

The pungent scents wrinkled their noses into silent snarls, there was now no question that Alvin was on this ship and thus somehow leading this attack. If only he had come a few months later, the Nightstrikers would have their fire and they could safely sink the boat and…

No, that would doom anyone else on board as well, and that assuming nobody just rescued him. This way was swift, concise, and certain, if more visceral and personal. No doubt Wanderer at least was fine with that.

But the hunger was helping keep Dreamer focused, keeping his mind off the abhorrent nature of the task and on the need to shed blood.

Inside the ship was just as much of a maze as outside, weird corridors leading into tiny rooms. It was all freshly built, and clearly intentional, but why? It was just pointless weight.

It didn't matter. Whatever Alvin was intending on, it wasn't going to happen.

They followed his trail, where he had most frequently touched walls and frames, moving through the belly of the ship in moments, covering each other, ensuring the ship slept soundly and that nobody stumbled on them by chance. They rounded the corner into what must be Alvin's room-

And nearly ran face-first into an iron grille, much like the cages on the deck.

A door, a peculiar one, but one that could be opened. But before Dreamer could inspect the lock, Wanderer split the silence with a deep growl.

Thrown off-guard, he backed up and looked around, only now seeing what was actually _through_ the obstacle they had encountered. Alvin stood there smugly, and though the light was low it was clear just how mutilated he really was. Missing two limbs, scarred all down his scalp and shoulders, and now missing his right eye and nose.

Perhaps the most ridiculous part was that he wore a false nose, one made of what looked like gold, though it was difficult to tell in the darkness. It was a bit crooked, held on by the eye patch.

_"Perhaps you should be running,"_ he said casually, his voice somewhat nasally, as he pulled a lever on the wall. _"Though it won't matter. I recently met some very interesting people, you see."_

_SLAM!_

Dreamer leapt as the boat shook, the loud sound echoing dully from behind them. _SLAM, SLAM, SLAM_, and suddenly Alvin leaving up through a trapdoor was the least of his concerns.

Iron bars descended around them, what he instantly recognised as one of the cages from the deck. They slammed into the floor with a deafening crash, splintering the wood under them.

Fear gripped him and he threw himself at the bars, nearly breaking his shoulder in the process. _Ow._ That was not a good kind of pain, but it helped temper his panic with caution, which in turn brought rationality. He could not break solid iron.

But he _could_ break wood. He leaped at the splintered floor, digging at it with his sharp claws and pulling it away-

To reveal more iron. There _was_ a bottom to the cage, it had just been separate until now.

"You can move this metal?" Wanderer asked tensely. "I maybe can get us out."

"How?" Dreamer asked, whirling on him.

"Fire," Wanderer growled, then sheathed his teeth in a fashion that was somehow quite ominous. "I have some. Maybe enough for burn this tree-thing."

A plan, or at least something to work with. He inspected the door of the cage, but of course the lock was on the outside and he couldn't reach it. "Help me," he growled, then continued tearing up the floor to reveal the mechanism to latch onto the cage when it dropped, which had worked flawlessly. He pried at the metal hooks, but his claws were _not_ good tools for the job, and they were stuck fast anyway.

Actually, if the cage had dropped, what was holding the roof up? That also turned out to be a bust, simply four small pillars in the corners that had been cleverly disguised in the twisting corners of the maze that was this cabin.

If they burned the ship down, they would sink with it and drown.

"No," Dreamer eventually admitted. "You can flame through metal…?"

"When older, yes," Wanderer growled. "Not now, not enough fire."

Dreamer moaned and slumped to the floor, where Wanderer tentatively settled down next to him. _Oh no,_ Wanderer did _not_ cope last time when trapped by Alvin…

They simultaneously tried to put a wing over each other, then huffed _sad, amused,_ and proceeded to get comfortable. "Keep your fire," Dreamer said quietly, then shuddered as he started thinking it through. "Only if we can escape. If just kill greedy Long-Paw, others probably kill us."

Wanderer growled a sigh and touched his tail to Dreamer's, leaning against him. There was nothing to do but wait.

* * *

By the time Stoick had learned of the Night Furies' plan, it was too late. Not that anyone could have stopped them, they'd only stopped to tell Fishlegs and promptly flown off again, faster than any other dragon on Berk. Stoick couldn't have done any better had they told him instead.

They hadn't returned. But Alvin seemed to want them alive, by all reports, so they certainly were not dead. Probably.

He didn't know if Alvin was on the fleet anchored within Berk's waters, larger than had ever been seen in the Archipelago, but hopefully that didn't matter. The Chiefs of the other tribes weren't ones to bow to another, so he just had to talk some reason into them.

Five ships broke from the fleet and sailed forth, the lead ships of five tribes. He waited with trepidation for them to reach the docks, the five Chiefs of course debarking and trespassing on the docks as was custom when invading another tribe.

"Mogadon," Stoick greeted darkly, "Boulguhr, Madguts, Hammerhead, Oaken. You do not leave much to the imagination with your intent." He was surprised to see Hammerhead, actually, the Visithugs hadn't turned away their dragon and had been actively putting them to good use. The same for the Murderous tribe, though they probably just thought they'd kill them if they tried anything. At least they _had_ kept them, as both had been able to return and warn of the attack. "That looks like an Outcast ship out there. Let me guess. Scarred man, missing a few limbs, silver tongue?"

"He ain' an Outcast," Mogadon growled, "an' he ain' on tha' ship. He 'elped us see reason. We don' need dragons, we were jus' fine killin' 'em. Then you come along with all this nonsense, and now everythin's gone ter Hel!"

"Alright," Stoick sighed. "But before we get too far…" He gave a signal, and twenty-six dragons took flight and flew off, away from both the island and the fleet. Thornado was not with them, Stoick had personally seen to settling him on the north side of the island. "They will check back in tomorrow. As I said, they won't be involved in any fighting. Even now." They would barely scratch this armada anyway, sending them away was far more likely to help than not.

Indeed, the other Chiefs looked thoughtful at that. "He said you lied about the Berserkers," Hammerhead offered thoughtfully; their tribe was really more one of merchants than warriors, compared to the other Viking tribes anyway.

Stoick snorted at that. "What, and silenced my whole tribe too?"

"Nobody's had contact with your tribe to check," Boulguhr intoned in his impossibly deep voice.

"And whose fault is that?" Stoick shot back. "I told you, you were welcome as visitors."

It was too early to be relieved, but Mogadon and Hammerhead looked uncomfortable. He suspected he was getting through to Boulguhr too.

"I still say we jus' raze 'em and ge' it over wit'," Oaken said flatly. "Maybe 'e's right, maybe 'e's no'. Who cares."

Stoick fumed as the five of them stood there on _his_ dock and discussed the merits of invading them, but then they all very suddenly went quiet to look at something behind him.

Wary of some trick, Stoick turned – and put his hand to his axe as the madman himself, maimed face and all, descended down to the docks and casually walked up to them. "What a wonderful day it is!" Alvin announced cheerily.

_"What,"_ Stoick spat acidly, "are _you_ doing here?" More specifically, from where he had come, and how nobody had skewered him for it.

"Now, now, Stoick, don't be like that," the vile man said with a condescending pout. "We're going to get to know each other _very well_ in the near future."

"You'll get to know my axe," Stoick shot back-

"Ah, ah, ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you," Alvin said, waving his finder. "Not when I have swords to the throat of, hmm, about half your tribe, including everyone in your hall."

Stoick's blood went cold.

"All a trick," Oaken sighed angrily. Next to him, Madguts was _fuming._ "I regre' me par' in this, Stoick, but ah'm no' interested now."

"Ah, ah, ah," Alvin chimed happily, putting everyone else's hands to their weapons as well. "I really do have to advise against going anywhere. Hmm, despite what you told each other, you all have about two-thirds of your forces here? Give or take? Yes? You all left those last people at home to defend your islands." He chuckled heartily. "No you didn't. You're all such _treacherous_ people. Oaken, while the rest of your people are off invading the Lava Louts-"

Boulguhr turned slowly to Oaken with murder in his eyes.

"-the Meatheads are invading you, who are in turn being invaded by the Visithugs, who are likely being occupied by the Murderous tribe right about now, and not even the Lava Louts could resist the easy target that made _them._ So!" He clapped his hands, bringing the focus back to himself before everyone could start wringing each others' necks. "We find ourselves in a very delicate situation. Well, you do, my army has no home. Actually, hmm…"

He looked up the tall cliffs, towards the village, and Stoick's expression became even darker. "I think I'll correct that now. But let me be clear. You all have a knife to each other's throat. Any of you going anywhere _will_ end in blood, too much to recover from. Now I know peace is not the Viking way, but if _any_ of you want a hope of surviving this then I suggest coming up to _my_ island and coming to an agreement. Otherwise, all those precious families you have back home will be razed to the ground. By each other! Oh I _do_ love the irony."

With a thoughtful frown on his mangled face, he inspected the six Chiefs. "Well, no sense dawdling. Might as well bring everyone in and make yourselves at home! We have many things to discuss…"

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_Next chapter is going to be a surprise..._


	37. Precipice

**_Author's Notes_**

_Surprise! Have this chapter a week early._

* * *

Alvin, standing atop the stairs to the Great Hall, admired the scenery. "It really is quite a nice village," he said aloud to himself, looking down on the tidy houses and clean paths.

"Tha' it is, tha' it is," Savage agreed behind him.

"Have the troublemakers met their… accidents?"

"All bu' one… 'E's bein' careful..."

Alvin nodded, going back to looking over the village. The rabble he plucked from the seas were, by nature, selfish and short-sighted people, but some of them were all too happy to take it way too far. Sowing discontent among his new subjects this early would undermine the control he had over the tribes, and it would not do for them to stage a coup before they even recognised him as their King.

He didn't need the Outcasts now anyway, other than to keep a thumb on the Hairy Hooligans; even disarmed, they _were_ Vikings. He was free to bully the other tribes, to a point, purely by the fact that they all had a sword to each other's throats. The best part was that they were blaming each other for it, not him, though of course he was the one who had bribed and blackmailed their advisors into this situation.

All except the Bog Burglars, of course. But they would not be a problem. He had the perfect assassin for the job…

With that thought, he turned and strode into the Great Hall to behold his Night Furies huddling in the cage in the middle of the room. Despite the bright light spilling over it from through the tall doors, they seemed to make their own darkness and meld into it, like little pockets of night. They weakly fought the ropes being threaded through the bars around them, suffering from being kept awake for nearly three days straight. He was taking no chances with them this time.

But he understood them now. He had been so blind and foolish before, trying to train and break them to his will. He was certain he could do it, given time, but his mistake was in thinking of them as beasts instead of people; unlike beasts, people could be blackmailed and coerced.

He watched in satisfaction as they were encouraged into place by spears and tied to the bars until they were immobilised, then approached the cage. A marvellous contraption, he really must thank the young man who'd designed it for him with a knife in the back; men _that_ intelligent would only be trouble.

But that was a job for another day. "I hope you've been keeping comfortable," he told his dragons, and they growled at him, staring at him with bloodshot eyes. "Yes, yes, all that and a barrel of ale. Let's make this quick, shall we? I'm a busy man."

He turned slowly to fix each of the eight Outcasts around him with a stern glare. "But first, let me make something clear, If you fight these dragons, you will die. If one of them attacks and you want to live, the first thing you need to do is kill the other one. Understood?" He nodded at the confused but accepting mumbles, then directed them to truss up his larger Fury and drag it out of the cage; it really had to be dragged, they were getting _big._

"Untie that one," he directed, nodding at the Fury in the cage as he drew his sword and fitted it to his prosthetic. It had taken time to properly learn to swordfight without a wrist, but he had discovered opponents generally underestimated the strength and misjudged the angle of his strikes. He would need that later, but not with these two. Not now that he understood that the prophecy specified 'the' fang-free dragon because he could only ever use one at a time.

"You pair have given me quite a lot of trouble, you know," he said darkly, standing over the trussed Fury and waving his amputated arm. It lay on its side, glaring at him with a single piercing green eye. "Perhaps I should return the favour…?" The eye widened and the pupil narrowed, and his other Fury paced inside the cage – they _definitely_ understood him. Not simple beasts, but people.

And people were easy to bend to his will. "A paw for a paw, shall we say?" he asked silkily, pressing the tip of his sword into the wrist of its foreleg. It struggled, but the ropes were thick, and a foot on its neck prevented it from rolling however big it had got.

Its hide was thick, so he adjusted his weight to lean more heavily on it, the Fury growling increasingly loudly. The one in the cage yelped frantically for his attention, and Alvin eased off, a wide smile creeping across his face at his smaller Fury lying prostrate, submitting itself to him with its head tucked under its neck.

People were so easy to manipulate with a loved one at risk. "Let it out," he ordered, moving the tip of his sword from wrist to neck. "Don't make me repeat myself," he sighed when nobody moved.

The door to the cage was opened, and the Night Fury, totally unrestrained, hesitantly walked out into the open. So stupid, it would save itself so much effort by just flying away now, but he knew it wouldn't. It could also rush him and get all three of them killed, but he knew it wouldn't do that either; if he treated them poorly enough they would take that opportunity, but he had no intention of abusing them as long as they obeyed, so they wouldn't. People were so predictable.

"Tie it up," he ordered.

"Tie, untie, make up your mind," one of the Nameless grumbled.

Alvin grinned; he was _never_ one to turn down a good opportunity. "Don't kill him, just maim him a bit," he ordered his Night Fury.

The dragon hesitated, then looked at the offender, who squeaked much as Alvin imagined a large mouse would sound while everyone else rapidly stepped back.

And then oh how _satisfying_ it was when his dragon leaped at the man, moving in the blink of an eye and eliciting musical screams from someone hardened to the Outcast life. The sheer speed and power of the attack was _beautiful,_ at least while someone else was on the receiving end. He almost shuddered at the sight, and then actually did when he thought of when they would be old enough to shoot fire.

Of course, he'd need to have them more securely under his control before that happened, but he had a whole year. The _extremely_ detailed book on dragons he'd stolen from the Hooligans was very specific about that, so he wasn't worried.

"See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" he said to it happily. "All this fighting each other we've been doing is completely unnecessary. You could have saved everyone a lot of pain by just cooperating from the start."

It stopped hissing at the back of the man's head under its paw, then stepped back and sat down to stare flatly at Alvin. The disrespectful Outcast scrambled upright and shuffled back on his rear, holding his arm to his chest – Alvin goggled for an instant before catching himself as he caught a glimpse of _multiple_ wounds on his front and arm. Whatever he did, Alvin knew he could not underestimate these two a fourth time.

"Any more complaints, or shall we try that again?" he said cheerily, and his subordinates hurried forward in an amusing mix of haste and caution.

Once it was secured – even more so than the larger one – Alvin strode over to it. "Now that one, but leave its back legs tied," he ordered. Something about it struck him as far more feral, more lethal, while the smaller one was more cautious and tactical. Alvin was more than happy to play to those strengths, and had several tasks in mind for each of them, but he also needed to remain just as wary of them.

"So then," he addressed his smaller Fury while they worked, "I owe _you_ doubly much. This," he gestured to his missing eye, "was particularly painful and crippling. I can't even _begin_ to describe it. But, there is another way…"

The larger Fury barked, clawing at the ground, and then assumed the same prostrate position the first one had. Hmm… There wasn't enough desperation yet. The Fury whined under its breath as he tapped his blade against its clenched eyelid – _there_ was the desperate yelping, wordless and submissive pleas for mercy.

_"That's_ better," he said gently, moving the sword to the dragon's neck. "So long as you remember that _I_ am in control, there won't be any problems. What would I even do with a weak and starving Night Fury? It's in _all_ our interests to play nice with each other, hmm?"

"Uh… You know they can't-"

"Under_stand?"_ Alvin snapped, digging the sword into the Fury's nape, and both dragons nodded stiffly; everyone else's gawking was amusing. "Excellent. Now then… You, untie its legs, and then _you_ can go back into the cage." Even his men were starting to get more comfortable with the situation, seeing that he had it under control… Under _his_ control, they would have no illusions who held the power here. Perfect. "You can go get it now," he said as the key to the now locked cage was handed back to him.

A ballista, carted up from one of the Bashem Oik ships, was uncovered and trundled over. "You're coming with me," he told the smaller Fury, idly working his sword through the ropes binding it while the ballista was loaded and aimed. "Any harm that befalls me, by you or anyone else, will be repeated onto him. Got it?" It nodded slowly at him. "Marvellous. And you lot, if anyone other than me or Savage enters that door, shoot the dragon first."

His Night Fury guard hesitantly followed him outside, a huge black vessel of raw strength at his beck and call. _Finally._ "You'll get used to this," he told it conversationally, and it growled quietly back at him. It would be bitter about it now, and it still hadn't been allowed to rest, but everyone adapted after a while. When this settled down into routine and he didn't need to actively threaten them to ensure their cooperation, their relationship would work much more smoothly.

He couldn't help but smile and strut through the occupied village, at the wild and fearful looks he received from the Vikings and Outcasts alike. Right now, he was the most powerful man in the Archipelago. Time to make sure everyone knew it.

* * *

It didn't matter that his village was occupied by a madman, it didn't matter that five tribes were knocking on his door with armies, Stoick Haddock was still the Chief of his tribe. While the other Chiefs bickered about stabbing each other in the backs – and Stoick held _no_ illusions as to how _that_ had happened – he made sure his tribe had roofs over their head and meals in their bellies, and were treated fairly by the scum loitering in the streets.

He'd even managed to get away with tossing a few of Alvin's thugs into the sea, when nobody was looking. There must be hundreds of them, but every one he kicked off his island was one they wouldn't need to fight if it came to that.

The dragon riders would have checked in already, but there had been no mention of anyone as much as seeing them. Dragons did not fight quietly, so they were still out there somewhere, waiting. Stoick didn't know what they were planning, if anything, but Spitelout was with them. He had to trust.

Most of his difficulty came from the Outcast invaders, who partially recognised his authority but would usually ignore him when it suited them. Pretty much all their livestock was in the process of being culled. They had managed to secret a portion of everything away to rebuild with, but they would be eating a _lot_ of fish for a long time if he couldn't secure some replacements from the other tribes.

The ones who were currently invading them. Stoick sighed, disappointed they had all, with only a single exception, fallen for such an old trick; if you have an enemy you can't beat, point someone else at them and then kick them while they're down. Still, he had the future to think about, and jumping right into the fray and pointing his finger would accomplish nothing now, not with them all doing exactly that to each other.

So while they brawled – quite literally, it had reached a point they'd had to be thrown into the training ring without weapons and told to just get it out of their systems – Stoick even managed their armies for them, directing them around to the main island and providing them somewhere to make shore and set up camp.

He could have led them around to the other side of the island, where they'd have much more comfortable camps, but that would be pushing his charity.

At noon on the second day, the Chiefs were summoned to the steps of the Great Hall. They weren't actually allowed inside, the doors were always guarded, and a few large covered wagons had been painstakingly dragged through the village and up those steps the previous evening. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

The other Chiefs arrived promptly, still full of bluster even while sporting black eyes. Well, except Boulguhr, but then he always moved with an inexorable steadiness, as if he were made of iron.

"Feeling any better?" Stoick asked Mogadon smugly.

"Shu' i'," Mogadon grumbled back, sounding a bit strained.

"Ah, fine Chiefs of the Archipelago," Alvin announced as he descended the stairs. "I hope you're all feeling…" He grimaced at them. "…_well_ today?" The Chiefs just stared flatly at him. "No matter. We've had some time to get comfortable, let things simmer down a bit, so let's start talking about how we can resolve this pickle you're all in. Any ideas?"

"Yeah," Oaken grunted, "I'm gonna sail back and pick up the rest of my fleet, then go home."

"Ahh, yes, what a wonderful idea. Tell me, what are you going to do about the Meatheads on your island?"

"Slaughter them to the man," came the callous reply.

"I see, I see, but I don't think the Meatheads would be happy about that," Alvin said before Mogadon could object. "But what about you, Boulguhr? Do you trust him to peacefully withdraw, without taking your women and gold?"

"I trust him to sail about as far as I could throw him," Boulguhr droned, sizing up Oaken. "I'll kill you myself if you try to leave before me."

"And that's the problem isn't it?" Alvin sighed smugly. "None of you will let the next one leave first, all the way around in a circle. And even then, Mogadon, the rest of your fleet is much further away than your island. Hammerhead could wait a full day and _still_ beat you there." A round of arguments and protests started up, which he patiently waited through.

"Enough!" Stoick snapped after a while, when it was clear they weren't going to stop on their own. "Hurry up and get to the part where you offer a solution that has us all bow to you."

Alvin glared at him as the other Chiefs chuckled; good, he'd undermined whatever the bag of scum was going to suggest. "Now, now, Stoick, don't be like that. Look what happens when you're all left to your own devices. Look what happened to the Hysteric tribe."

Now _that_ was a grim reminder to sober the mood. The Hysterics had been completely insane, but geniuses in many ways as well. It was said they'd sailed off the edge of the world, carried their boat along under it, then hauled it up on the other side. It sounded like nonsense, but the tribe had taken a hard fall some forty years ago and not recovered, and _everyone_ had felt the effects. It was easy to dismiss another tribe, but they all relied on the Lava Louts' gold, the Visithugs' herds, the Meatheads' wild game, the Bashem Oiks' iron, and the Murderous' looting of the South. Even with the Berserkers merely dysfunctional, he knew some of the other tribes were suffering the drop in trade.

No tribe was entirely self-sufficient, not indefinitely. That was one of the reasons the Hysterics were no more, they had not reached out for aid while their people grew sick, and then starved with too few workers to till the fields and manage the herds.

"But yes, I have a solution", Alvin continued. "I can pass a message to _all_ of your villages, near enough to all at the same time. You can all sign an order to your forces, an _identical_ one, to peacefully withdraw and leave everything intact."

"There be problems with that," Hammerhead growled. "I don' think I be trustin' whatever thugs be on mah island wha'ever their bloodthirsty Chief be signin'. If they _do_ be ignorin' the order, wha's to say you lo' gonna be makin' 'em pay for i'?"

"Good points-" Alvin started.

"An' I prefer solutions grounded in _Midgard,"_ Oaken growled over him.

"…As I was saying, good points, but not without solutions. What you all need is a leader, a _King_ of the Archipelago- SILENCE!" The angry shouting of the Chiefs did not abate at his request, and Stoick, though he was shouting in outrage along with them, was at least a bit smug his jab had helped.

But Alvin didn't look overly concerned. He rolled his eyes and bit his bottom lip to whistle… and then Stoick's mouth fell open with all the others'.

One of the Night Furies, a large black dragon that just _radiated_ strength with its presence, suddenly flapped into a landing beside Alvin.

And then it _bowed_ to him, dropping a paw and smoothly lowering its nose to the ground.

Everyone stood there in _dead silence,_ staring at the dragon while Alvin looked down on them with a sick grin on his face.

"…Hiccup?" Stoick eventually managed, unable to connect what he was seeing. The dragon sagged and looked away. How had this happened? No, that wasn't even a question. Alvin had clearly captured them when they'd flown to kill him, and was holding one hostage while the other did his bidding.

"Was that its name?" Alvin said mildly. "No matter. What matters is that my Night Fury can carry a message _and_ ensure it is followed, and be around the five villages before any two armies meet each other. But what also matters is that this Night Fury is mine, and I'm left wondering why I should be helping a bunch of _backstabbers."_

Hammerhead shuffled nervously. "We can pay you-"

"With _what?"_ Alvin cut him off. "Who else has a Night Fury, or _any_ dragon, right here right now? Who else is impartial in all of this? The entire Archipelago teeters on the edge of a knife, and you want to pay me in…? Sheep? Trinkets? _No._ Besides which, I would need control over you _all_ to ensure you all stay in line and actually do as you're told. If the Murderous tribe _does_ pillage the Visithugs on their way out, _I_ can ensure they pay recompense."

"We do not need a King," Stoick growled. "You don't control _all_ the dragons, and a Deadly Nadder and rider could do the same thing." Something suddenly occurred to him. "Why is this a problem at all? What, are these armies going to just sit there and wait for the larger enemy fleet to come home?"

But Alvin only smirked. "Yes, essentially. When I became aware of the situation, too late to catch up to you, I sent certain messages around prompting everyone to hole up so that there weren't any unfortunate accidents. Nothing is changing for now."

"And how, exactly, _did_ you know?" Mogadon growled.

"A King should know everything going on in his kingdom," he replied flippantly, "consider that an advantage of joining me."

Stoick had already told them of the Outcast spies, reiterating himself would only make them defensive. He sighed and looked pityingly at the Night Fury, who still refused to meet his gaze. How far would they go for each other? Would they kill for Alvin? He wouldn't blame them for valuing their own lives over those of humans, particularly if they didn't know the victim…

"We're off course here," Stoick sighed, forcing himself back to the situation at hand. "We don't need him," he said, addressing the other Chiefs directly. "He's clearly manipulated the situation to his own advantage, this can be settled peacefully among ourselves without bowing to _anyone,_ least of all him."

"Are you so sure about that, Stoick?" Alvin asked, his smooth tone somewhat marred by his missing nose. "The others were so keen to stab each other in the back when they thought they could get away with it. Now is no different. If they think they can, they will."

More like, as long as they thought everyone else _might,_ there would be no resolving this.

"If one person already owns everything at stake," Alvin continued, "it would be in their interests for it to all go back in its rightful place. Don't worry, you'll keep your titles and life will go on as before, you'll just be set to working _with_ each other rather than _against_ each other. And you will be my next in command, taking your shares in all the glory we could achieve together and with the dragons' might. Or, you could sail back home and undo _everything_ you've all built."

On one hand, near certain destruction, or at the very least crippling injuries to most tribes. If even one failed to recover, that would make it much harder for the others, and could even trigger a total collapse.

On the other hand, unity and glory, a promised share in wealth and prosperity. To make matters worse, Stoick's own pushes for peace had only worked towards this man's goals, sowing the seeds of the possibility of openly working together and with dragons. The others were going to be difficult to talk out of it once they started thinking, especially with this man feeding them his poisonous words.

But Stoick knew Alvin, what he was. No doubt he would deliver exactly as promised… for as long as it took to have the Chiefs killed and replaced with someone who would blindly follow him out of greed. That might not even be necessary for the likes of Madguts, who would be happy just as long as he had someone to raid.

"You're not even a Viking," Stoick said disdainfully, his words dripping with scorn. "What do you know of our way of life? Such a King would need to be chosen in our ways, and witnessed by the gods."

The other Chiefs nodded and grunted their agreement, but Alvin unfortunately didn't seem fazed in the slightest. "Very well. Shall we agree then that we shall leave it to fate? The strongest of those who would challenge in single combat to draw first blood? I must insist that killing your opponent would disqualify you, for obvious reasons."

He was met with general mutters of agreement. "And as we are leaving it to the gods and fate, there will be _no_ do-overs. Nobody can complain if something _unfortunate_ happens, that is just fate's will."

There were various rules introduced, such as what would happen if someone interfered, until everyone was satisfied, Stoick only realising after the fact that Alvin had just expedited the decision by moving straight into planning until everyone was too committed to want to back out.

But this… wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Stoick was confident in his swordsmanship, and he fully expected that if any other Chief won they would lord on about the title for about a month before everything went back to normal. Of course, if he himself won he would only keep it as long as it took to sort out everyone else.

Alvin was missing two limbs and an eye, and his build wasn't _nearly_ as heavy as any of the Chiefs. He wouldn't win.

* * *

Dreamer felt _worlds_ better after finding some sleep, short as it had been. The only way either Nightstriker could rest was huddled in the embrace of the other, who kept watch, so while he was still exhausted he wasn't about to pass out from it.

And true to Alvin's word, aside from the threats and almost permanently having one of them at sword's point, he wasn't treating them poorly, providing ample food, water, and opportunities to stretch and fly while they acted as his personal bodyguards.

More worrying was that Wanderer had been somewhat vacant when he'd been returned to the cage, but finding his favourite scratchy spots had quickly snapped him out of it. Still, Dreamer didn't want to know if this was the sort of thing that would get harder and harder to come back from; just as always, they needed to escape quickly.

He tugged futilely at the shackles around his forelegs, anchoring him to the floor of the cage to make him an easy target for the loaded ballista that was pointed at him. The weapon made him uncomfortable, but at the same time he knew that these Outcasts feared Alvin more than the Nightstrikers, at least while they were… he didn't want to think of himself as _under control_, but he was, really. So they would be very extra certain not to let it misfire.

And right now, there was very little he could do about it. Alvin was being _extremely_ careful, acting under the assumption that they could kill him in a heartbeat – which they could, and would if given the chance, so it wasn't as if that caution was unwarranted. Still, Dreamer thought they'd at least have an opportunity to use Wanderer's fire by now, but it seemed Alvin was even prepared for that.

Besides that, these measures were only temporary. Once Alvin had some resources, Dreamer was certain he'd find even more secure ways of ensuring they did his bidding. Whatever that would be.

What _did_ Alvin want with them, anyway? Once the Archipelago was under his control, what more was there?

He busied himself with such thinking to pass the time, as close to sleep as his body would allow him to get with the ballista pointed at him, to be finally 'woken' by Alvin entering the Great Hall.

Alone.

Dreamer growled, struggling to interpret the vile man's despicable expression-

_"Calm yourself, he's fine,"_ Alvin said with a roll of his eyes. Dreamer snorted at him; he would believe it when he saw it. _"As long as you cooperate, anyway."_

He took a key to the manacle around Dreamer's wrist, removing it, then opened the door. Undoubtedly Wanderer was again under threat of injury or death, Alvin was far too careful to bluff about that. He took a moment to lick his newly-freed wrists, easing the aches from the hard metal that had been weighing on them these past few hours, then languidly stretched before stepping outside.

And that was the extent to which he dared defy his captor; a depressingly short distance. It simply wasn't worth it, not when a petty peace of mind could be met with equally petty distress.

_"Don't look so glum,"_ Alvin said in a patronisingly cheerful tone as they walked. _"When everything calms down, we'll see about getting you set up more comfortably, with more space to live in and some privacy. We can _both_ have what we want here, this doesn't need to be unpleasant."_

For the most part, Dreamer tuned him out, partially because he was suddenly and unwillingly preoccupied with designing a nice little habitat for them that was ready to be dropped into the sea at the pull of a lever. But then a lever was too simple a system for such a failsafe, perhaps two levers that _why was he even thinking about this!?_

He shook his head and focused on where they were going. This morning was the day of the tournament, as it had been affectionately designated, that would determine who would be handling the tongs to pull the tribes from the fire they'd managed to light under themselves.

Surprisingly, they were not going towards the training ring. Dreamer thought that would have been the ideal place, with a reasonable amount of room for everyone to crowd behind suitable barriers, but they were heading down the village rather than across the bridge to the main island.

Apparently, someone – probably Alvin – had decided the town centre was the best place, in front of the forge. It was still being set up, nearby houses being raided for whatever could realistically be used as a seat and two concentric circles being drawn in crushed chalk.

Larger, more prominent chairs had been made or pulled from somewhere and were being set up on small podiums, seven of them, one for each contender. Dreamer breathed a sigh of relief at the black tail venturing out from behind one of the chairs – then rolled his eyes with a quiet snort as he noticed that specific chair had been set slightly higher up the hill than the others.

There was nobody _actively_ threatening them, but most of the dozens of Outcasts stomping around had bows, slung on their backs but strung and ready to be used. Assuming Wanderer was being held down somehow, he would be full of arrows at the very least before Dreamer could reach even most of them.

_"Hup!"_ Alvin directed, gesturing to the platform, and Dreamer dutifully hopped up and quickly discovered his place by Wanderer in front of the chair, clearly meant for him with its light chains sprouting from the wood. His friend appeared to be sleeping, but cracked an eye at him as he settled in, and there were some subtle details that belied his apparent ease.

Alvin strode up and sat leisurely in the chair behind them, giving Dreamer a creeping feeling down his back – at least he never tried to pet them, that was a mercy in itself – while Savage fit the thin chains. One went over each of his forelegs, another over his shoulders in front of his wings, and then a fourth across his rump behind his wings.

He might have been able to break them, given the right leverage, but the ones holding his paws under him held him down firmly, while the other two prevented him from wriggling out. It forced him into a prim position of readiness, a tidy mirror of Wanderer, while the dark chains were mostly hidden under his wings.

_"I hate to do it, but it is necessary while we sail these new waters,"_ Alvin said sadly, though the tone was feigned and had a _greedy, amused_ undertone that sounded far more genuine. _"I will not immediately punish more minor transgressions here, but they will be dealt tenfold later. Am I clear?"_

Dreamer nodded and Wanderer grunted an acknowledgement.

_"Good. Now we wait for the others to arrive."_

It did not escape Dreamer's notice, while the arena was finished and tribespeople started filtering in, that Alvin was performing a perverted version of what Stoick had at the Thing last year. Although the Nightstrikers in this case were being held against their will, that wasn't immediately visible and Alvin was sitting in a position of superiority over them, while the Chiefs didn't even have a door to slam open.

Alvin seemed incapable of walking five feet without manipulating someone, and Dreamer could only hope it would come back to bite him in a way that somehow left the Nightstrikers free dragons, as ridiculously unlikely as that was.

_"Maybe we can do this regularly,"_ Alvin said behind them, though Dreamer initially wasn't sure whether he was talking to them. _"Though, don't count on it being your way out. Oh yes, I know _exactly_ when you'll have your fire."_

Both Nightstrikers went stiff, Wanderer's eye snapping open and staring at Dreamer.

_"One year from now. We have a year to enjoy this, or come up with some other way. The latter will be easier if you cooperate, you know, it just makes things easier for everyone."_

Dreamer felt as if he'd been hollowed out, the dread replaced with tentative excitement. How in Odin's name had he ended up at _that_ conclusion? "When you say four warm-seasons…" he breathed to Wanderer. "Fish-Legs put in word marks…"

Wanderer's breaths were short and tense. "He think we get-"

"He _know_ we get fire next season-cycle," Dreamer hurriedly cut him off, thinking of what _else_ Fishlegs had recorded, and giving Wanderer a significant look.

He received a sceptical look back, but then Wanderer groaned in terribly fake distress and dropped his head on his paws. Hopefully Alvin hadn't picked up on it, he always seemed to know everything… but then again, _his_ façade was obvious as well, and everyone was falling for _that._ Dreamer just forced himself to slump, and focused on everyone filing in through the buildings.

A good portion of every tribe eventually settled in around their Chiefs, respecting the outer chalk circle but otherwise pushing and shoving to their hearts' content in true Viking fashion. Dreamer noticed that none of them held weapons, despite the armed Outcasts, and the various Chiefs looked quite worse for wear, as beaten up as they had been the day before but also now tired and weary.

_"Sleep well, Stoick?"_ Alvin casually called over the din.

_"Aye, quite well, actually,"_ Stoick replied enthusiastically, though Dreamer was still too ashamed to look at him. _"I did have one interruption,"_ he continued mildly, _"but it was just a bit of clutter that needed throwing off the cliff."_

Dreamer snorted, imagining the glowering rage that was probably not showing on Alvin's face.

Though it was in his voice, masked under façades that Dreamer suspected were not obvious without a dragon's ears. _"People of the Archipelago!"_ Alvin shouted, quieting the crowd. _"Your Chiefs have decided we need a King! One who will not allow us to lead ourselves to ruin! We will unite, and become a mighty empire to rival even the filthy Southerners!"_ His words were met with cheering, somehow convincing the Vikings of the Archipelago that this was what they wanted, catching them up in the moment like flies in a web.

_"To keep things fair, names will be drawn from a helmet, and then the named contenders will fight until first blood! A reminder that if any of you interfere at any point, your tribe's contender will be disqualified, and further punishments enacted if necessary!"_ That was only common sense, though it prevented the Outcasts from interfering as well, and the direction of any thrown weapons would be clear with how the tribes were segregated. Any perpetrator would be quickly flushed out.

_"Let us begin the first match!"_ Alvin announced, and then an aura of excitement hung in the air while a young girl, barely old enough to be steady on her feet, stomped into the middle of the ring while an Outcast offered her a helmet to draw from.

_"Mo-ga-don!"_ she bellowed into the silence, and a loud and adoring cheer erupted. Dreamer wished he could glare at Alvin, he hadn't even walked five feet for this one.

A tense silence settled while she fumbled for the next name, then squinted at it. _"Boll… Bull… Bull-goo-her!"_

_"Boulguhr,"_ the Chief corrected her in his usual monotone as he entered the ring, though he was smiling.

_"Bull-ger!"_ she hollered, and everyone cheered again.

As she returned to her seat near the front of Berk's section, Dreamer watched an Outcast take the helmet from her and replace the contents while everyone was distracted by the Chiefs' opening strikes. In similarly astonishing news, water was wet.

Though both Chiefs looked exhausted from the start, they fought hard, bending and blunting the light swords they used in place of their usual heavy ones, which would be a disadvantage in this style of fight. Eventually, Mogadon got around Boulguhr's guard and slashed his shoulder to the uproarious shouts of the crowd.

But everyone, even the disgruntled Lava Louts, calmed and quieted as the girl walked back into the ring with the scraggy Outcast offering her the helmet.

_"Sto-ick!"_ she shouted, and Dreamer sagged. His old name echoed in his head, the way his sire had said it yesterday, so full of shock and sadness. If they'd never tried to kill Alvin, this wouldn't…

_"Moga-don!"_ the girl yelled.

_"Oi! I jus' fough' a match!"_ Mogadon shouted angrily.

_"We agreed to pick names out of a helmet, this is fate's will,"_ Alvin intoned, the undercurrents of his voice drenched in smugness.

_"Ah'll fate you in a minute,"_ Mogadon growled as he stomped back into the ring.

The fight didn't last as long as the last, partly because Stoick was fresh while Mogadon was a fight and probably a night's sleep behind, but partly also because Stoick was genuinely the best fighter in the Archipelago. Dreamer wasn't at all biased in making that statement.

But his eyes dropped of their own accord when Stoick looked their way. He just couldn't deal with that burden right now, whichever way it went.

Dreamer sighed silently, then tried to guess who Alvin would pit Stoick against next while Wanderer craned around to chew an itch on his side.

He watched his sire fight off the other Chiefs in turn; Hammerhead, Oaken, and then Madguts. The Chief of the Murderous tribe truly lived up to his name, striking with a fury that would have done a Berserker proud, that fight lasting longest of all. Stoick weathered the brutal assault, conserving his strength, and then shoved back a shield bash so forcefully that it hit Madguts in the face and split his lip wide enough that blood dripped from his beard.

The Hooligans cheered louder than everyone else put together, flattening the Nightstrikers' ears to their necks, though Dreamer was silently elated.

But this last fight would be one to watch very, _very_ carefully. He just hoped his sire knew to do that too.

Alvin leisurely fit his sword into his prosthetic – it seemed to have some sort of mechanism that clamped down onto the hilt of a regular sword by twisting the wrist, very clever – and gave it a few experimental chops, adjusting the angle until he was satisfied. Stoick simply remained in the ring, projecting his image of a steady mountain, but Dreamer had no doubt he was wearing down.

Still, he should be more than a match for Alvin.

And then _nobody_ could deny his claim, having beaten two thirds of the Archipelago's Chiefs in back-to-back fights, however rigged it had been.

_"How about a little deal, Stoick?"_ Alvin offered casually, his overconfident demeanour tugging at Dreamer's hackles.

_"What did you have in mind?"_ Stoick asked cheerfully, though there was tension and distrust under it.

_"The other Chiefs are necessary, but your island has a new Chief. A King, even, if I win this. You are not needed here. Why don't we make this match a fight to the death?"_

Oh no, _no no no no no,_ that was a _bad-_

_"No holds barred,"_ Stoick readily agreed. Tossing aside his sword and shield and gesturing for new ones.

Silence met that answer for several heartbeats. And then intense muttering broke out, a loud and steady murmuring that was impossible to pick anything out of.

Alvin had walked around the ring a little, and gave the Nightstrikers a smug smirk before hefting his shield and raising his sword, out to the side. Unlike when Dreamer had seen him fight before, his stance looked firm and his blade steady; he actually looked like he knew what he was doing now.

Wanderer craned around again, bumping repeatedly against Dreamer's wing until it was absently raised out of the way, but Dreamer was focused on the fight and what Alvin would inevitably try. Not that he was really sure what he could do about it.

Hot breath blew down his side. _Very_ hot breath. Actually, that was uncomfortably-

Dreamer hurriedly angled his wing to better cover Wanderer's head. _"Now?"_ he hissed, this didn't seem the right _time_ for that, but of course Wanderer was busy melting the chain and couldn't reply.

The thin line of pressure over Dreamer's back went slack, and he had to resist the urge to stretch. Alvin was focused on the fight, as Stoick was really doing his best to kill him, but they looked pretty close to evenly matched.

Dread settled over Dreamer, and he awkwardly began shuffling his paws backwards out from under their chains, a possibility now that he could arch his back, under the disguise of shuffling to get comfortable. "What you will do?" he asked Wanderer, trying to encourage the chain over his hindquarters to slide down his tail a bit.

"Not worry, just distract. Five life-beats all I need."

_Wrrr,_ he couldn't just kill Alvin then, the Outcasts around them had orders to instantly kill them if he attacked.

_Creak_

Despite the clashing of swords and gasping of the crowd, a sound pricked at Dreamer's ears, one he had learned long ago to mean pain and grief. He abandoned all attempts at subtlety, wrenching his right paw free and shoving the last chain back with his wings.

The rasp of wood against wood, the thrum of taught string. There was no time to see where the arrow was coming from, and Stoick was not the sort of Viking he could just shove out of the way. Dreamer leaped from the platform.

A yelp involuntarily left his throat as an impact struck him solidly in the neck, and he tumbled across the ground, sliding over the loose dirt to the other edge of the arena. Unlucky, that it had struck him there where his hide was slightly thinner, but lucky, so lucky, that he had made it at all.

There was silence for a moment. Alvin took an angry breath-

Thinking frantically, Dreamer hastily flipped upright and wrenched the arrow from his own neck, wincing at the red coating the iron head. That didn't matter. He whined submissively, taking a step forward to drop the arrow at Alvin's feet, and then limped backwards. Maybe, just maybe…

_"Hah, ya got 'em trained well!"_ a familiar voice shouted from the Outcast section of the crowd. Why would that be familiar…

_"…Yes, I do,"_ Alvin said darkly, then sighed.

_"Who fired that!?"_ Stoick roared into the crowd, though there was already a commotion going on behind the crowd.

A woman was dragged forward, still clutching a bow and kicking frantically. She was young, a few years older than Astrid, slender and with a braid of long hair whipping around. Dreamer had been hoping it was an Outcast, but there weren't any involved in this scuffle… Alvin's plans always had backups…

_"Does anyone recognise this woman?"_ Alvin asked the crowd, his nasally voice insufferably smug.

_"…Why…?"_ Stoick breathed at her.

_"Ohh, she's a Hairy Hooligan?"_ Alvin asked as he held his sword to her throat, sounding anything but surprised.

Dreamer pressed his eyes closed and sagged. The worst had been averted, but this outcome was still far from desirable.

_"Well then, nobody was harmed, but you _did_ try to kill a Chief."_

The woman paled. _"What? No! It was just until first blood-"_

_"No, it wasn't,"_ Dreamer heard Stoick say sadly.

_"Silence,"_ Alvin hissed. _"You failed to kill your target, but you interfered and disqualified your tribe."_ He stood there for a few moments, then glared over his shoulder.

_"Oh, er, Alvin wins!"_ Savage stuttered. _"All hail King Alvin!"_

Dreamer looked helplessly to Wanderer, but he still appeared to be firmly tied down. Five heartbeats he needed, a big enough distraction that the Outcasts standing _right next_ to him wouldn't notice whatever needed to happen.

Alvin gave Dreamer a look that said he would deal with him later, and he whined miserably. It would be clear the chain had been melted. He dreaded to think the security they would be put under _now._

A tall gold crown appeared from apparently nowhere, Savage carrying it in on a fancy pillow. It was really happening, and they were powerless to do anything about it.

The crown was delicately set on the vile man's head; with his mangled face and gold nose, it looked gaudy and tacky, like painting over rust.

But it was done. He was being recognised as King of the Archipelago.

_"Well, let's not hang around!"_ he crowed._ "Chiefs, go wait for me in the Chief's hut, I have some messages already arranged for you to sign. Don't want to leave your people in the fire too long now do we?"_

That was the cue for people to start dispersing. There was no applause, no cheering. The Outcasts jeered happily, laughing with each other. Everyone seemed stunned.

_"And my first business as King, is killing this traitor,"_ Alvin snarled down at the woman, raising his sword.

_"No, wait!" _she shouted frantically at him. _"You lied to me! Don't-"_

Dreamer squeezed his eyes shut, feeling violently nauseous, but snapped them open again at the sound of metal meeting metal instead of flesh. Stoick stood there, holding his sword to Alvin's after knocking it aside. _"What do you mean, he lied?"_ he asked loudly, loudly enough that everyone quieted and turned back to watch.

Her face scrunched up and she shook her head. _"I'm so sorry!"_ she suddenly blurted out. _"I thought it was to first blood, he said you wouldn't be hurt! After I caught Outcasts sneaking mites into Mogadon's hut, he kidnapped my nieces, and now he's going to kill them! Please!"_ She broke down into grieved wails, clutching at Stoick's clothes.

Dreamer had thought it was quiet before, but now the woman's piteous cries seemed to echo in the stillness.

_"They did WHAT!?"_ Mogadon roared.

Simultaneously, the Hooligans and Meatheads turned on the Outcasts, attacking from either side of their portion of the crowd. The Outcasts were the only ones with weapons to start with, but that quickly changed as they were wrenched away, and more mundane weapons such as prosthetics and rocks joined the fray.

_"Protect me, and he lives,"_ Alvin snapped at Dreamer. _"Put an end to this now, and he keeps his wings!"_

Dreamer took a step forward, but staggered, feeling lightheaded. His body felt light and empty, but he didn't have the strength to move it properly. He dimly noticed a pool of blood around his paws. That probably wasn't good...

Stoick was with him a moment later, locating the wound and then applying pressure to it as he carefully lowered himself to the ground.

With an angry shout of frustration, Alvin turned to Wanderer. _"Protect me, and- wait, who are you?"_

Dreamer pulled his vacant gaze to Wanderer, and the scruffy Outcast next to him, one with a wiry beard and a helmet low over his eyes. _"Jus' a nobody, really,"_ he said in Spitelout's voice as he shoved down on the axe handle at Wanderer's flank with a _crack_.

Alvin spun and leaped at Dreamer, but his foot didn't even touch the ground. Wanderer had thrown himself forward and grabbed him by the shoulders and thighs, then his huge and powerful wings thrust down and lifted them both into the air.

The mad shouts quickly faded into the distance as Wanderer gained altitude, catching a stiff wind and suddenly soaring high, until he was a speck against the bright sky.

The speck became two specks.

One of the specks disappeared in a flash of blue light.

_Kra-KA!_ came the crisp explosion a few moments later, echoing briefly and stilling everyone to silence once again.

A long, shrieking roar of _triumph, fury,_ pulled at Dreamer's hackles, eliciting wary and frightened shouts of alarm that only intensified as Wanderer dove, the air screaming as he cut through it.

_"Nigh' Fury!"_

_"Ge' down!"_

Dreamer weakly barked in alarm as the Outcasts suddenly surged forward, desperation in their eyes, but where the Meatheads were distracted the Hooligans headed them off and formed a line of defence with shields that had been passed from the forge. They only made a single push before Wanderer landed heavily on the roof of the forge, snarling at everyone with a lethal glow in his mouth.

The threat of fire was new, but the Hooligans were accustomed to living with the Night Furies and continued fighting with renewed enthusiasm; they knew the dragon's ire was directed with their own.

With a sigh of relief, Dreamer closed his eyes, knowing all was in hand. He couldn't even bring himself to be horrified at the slaughter of the Outcasts, they knew the penalty for trespass, particularly after taking over the village as they had. His own possible death was far more concerning right now.

An enquiring warble lifted his ear, and a scaly nose brushed his face. Dreamer hummed reassuringly and waved a wing.

_"Ach, leave 'ome fer a few days an' look wha' 'appens,"_ Spitelout's voice said jovially as it neared. _"Is 'e gonna make i'?"_ he asked more seriously a moment later.

_"Aye,"_ Stoick said proudly._ "He's a tough one."_

And then the world faded away.

* * *

Wanderer stalked into the den, wary of the trap. He had been trapped in these dens before, but he was much, much bigger now. He'd feel safer if he had any fire left, but most of it had gone to freeing Dreamer and then the rest to ridding the world of another monster; he'd barely had the dregs to light his mouth afterwards. His capacity would improve quickly, but that didn't help him here.

Although, strangely enough, _knowing_ it was a trap somewhat helped. There was no uncertainty. The trap wasn't for him anyway, so there was that also.

After a heartbeat for his eyes to adjust, he stared levelly at the scruffy Long-Paw holding a fish over the fire, then casually walked through to the back of the den. There was a door in the way, but that posed little barrier to him now. He nudged the metal bar with a claw and pushed it open.

Another Long-Paw sat in the room, lazing in the light of a small flame, but he quickly sat up and put his paw to his claw as Wanderer strode inside. _Just try,_ Wanderer dared him with a look, but sadly, indecision held him back.

Two terrified Long-Paws huddled on a low flat-tree-thing, one very young and the other barely older than a hatchling. He crooned at them, keeping his eyes wide and relaxed to keep the dangerous one in his sight as he walked over. They needed teasing out from the wall, but eventually the older one carried the younger out of the room, sheltered between his body and wing, and then outside without incident.

Almost immediately after stepping outside, the fledgling rushed for her dam, making all sorts of horrible noises. But it was heartening, seeing how incredibly happy and relieved they all were. A smaller Long-Paw, the one that had shot Dreamer, thanked him profusely, eyes leaking water, though he blocked her off from wrapping her forelegs around his neck.

The dam and her sister argued briefly, handed the young to a male who held them tightly in his own relief, then hefted their claws and stormed inside. Wanderer left them to it; that was their fight.

He hopped into the air and soared over the nest, quickly picking out the two Long-Paws carrying Dreamer on a flat-tree-thing, and coasted down to them. They had a guard of several trusted nest-kin, two of them on the backs of Spine-Tails, so there was not really any concern for his safety, but Wanderer felt better being there himself. He thought Dreamer would feel better too, were he awake to know.

They carried the Nightstriker into the alpha's den, the only one they would feel remotely safe in. Strange that it did not smell of the vile greedy Long-Paw, typically when taking over a nest the _first_ thing to do was take the alpha's perch, but this one had not. Perhaps rot truly had taken him in the head. It didn't matter now, anyway.

Dreamer was gently lowered next to the fire, one he had once nestled into but now dwarfed with his size. Yes, they were finally free now, free of the ones hunting them and free of their dependence on protection. Wanderer purred happily as he settled down with him, inspecting the binding over his wound and deeming it acceptable; clean and holding a wad of soft not-skin firmly in place, but something they could claw off on a whim.

He wondered when Dreamer's fire would come in. Wanderlust would come soon after, a drive for independence and to fly new skies that Wanderer was starting to feel already. Soon, no doubt.

A smile crept across his face at the thought of his Dreamer learning his fire. He was looking forward to it.

* * *

Astrid forced herself to remain upright in the saddle, projecting an image of authority however much she wanted to beat her head against the flat of her axe.

"It's really no' tha' difficult," Spitelout sighed. "Yeh'll peacefully withdraw, because if you don', weh'll burn yer sails an' leave you 'ere for when _their_ ships ge' back."

"Is tha' a threat!?" the Murderous warrior yelled enthusiastically. At the moment it was a fitting name for the tribe, saving Astrid from adding an adjective in her own thoughts.

"It's no more a threa' than you lo' stayin' 'ere to pillage," Spitelout replied with a roll of his head, exasperated. "Jus' do as yer Chief says. Actually, you know wha'? Wha's yer name? Ah'll tell 'im how devoted yeh are ter this even _after_ 'e's told you ter back off."

"Ge' outta my way, gotta ship to load," the man growled, walking straight between the two Nadders and to his ships, shouting orders as he went. Thankfully, those orders were to leave everything intact.

Well, as intact as everything still was. A few buildings were little more than black smudges, and there were bones littering the paths and in alleys. Hopefully Stoick wasn't relying on the Visithugs to replenish Berk's livestock, it looked like they were going to have their own problems.

_That,_ she couldn't help but smile smugly at. Stoick had renewed the promise to provide each tribe with a dragon, but only until the end of autumn as originally agreed. No doubt they would be invaluable in getting everyone back on their feet. The Bog Burglars were probably laughing their heads off, enjoying their stability and security, though Stoick had plans to get their aid in return for another dragon rider and better deals going forward. Astrid didn't mind that, she liked Bertha and Cami.

As they took off and rose away from observers, she let herself deflate and slumped forward to lay against Stormfly's neck, allowing her exhaustion to take over.

"Yeh really should no relax like tha'," Spitelout chastised. "Yeh need _everyone_ ter see you a' yer strongest, includin' yer Marshal. Don' want 'im gettin' any ideas."

"Yeah, that's why I'm doing it now, while I still can," Astrid groaned into Stormfly's warm scales, not loud enough for Spitelout to hear.

They gradually drifted away, keeping an eye on the boats until they were as sure as they could be that they wouldn't just turn around. It had been an uphill battle this whole trip, but it was over now. By the time she got back, the other tribes would have left and hopefully Hiccup would have recovered.

"I still wish you'd let me fight those filthy Outcasts," she grouched conversationally as they flew.

"Oh yeah, 'cause yeh blend in _so well_ wi' the vagabond look," Spitelout shot back sarcastically.

"While you fit right in, I bet!"

"Watch i' lassie! I 'ad _plenty_ o' suspicion."

His tone suggested she'd struck a nerve, and she smirked. "I'm just saying, I'm an adult now. We all are, we could have helped."

Spitelout laughed loudly at that. "Ah dear, ah needed tha'," he chuckled. "Firs' rule o' growin' up, lassie. As long as yeh think yeh are, yeh ain'."

"But… that doesn't make any sense!"

He laughed again. "Aye, welcome to adulthood!"

She rolled her eyes while he chuckled to himself, and focused on the waves swiftly passing far below them. He was probably just going senile.

* * *

A low purr rumbled through Dreamer's throat as he lay in his den high up in the cliff, trying to find sleep. It was a bit odd, as he wasn't really happy enough to be purring, but it was making his wound feel better so he didn't stop himself.

Maybe it was along the lines of the old adage to keep smiling until you're happy, which always amused him because it implied one would stop smiling when they were happy. Either that or just smile all the time and never stopped, like some sort of crazy person.

He flexed his neck, groaning through a louder purr as pain shot down through the wound, then cursed himself for not learning his fire sooner; though Wanderer assured him it was normal. If he'd had his fire as well, any number of better outcomes would have been possible.

But then again, this outcome was not nearly as bad as it could have been, the only way it could have realistically gone better was perhaps if they'd succeeded in killing Alvin on his ship. But then who knew what would have happened then? Maybe the five tribes who had been duped would have all gone to war with each other and everything would have gone to Hel anyway.

He tried again to find his fire, to give him the peace of mind to _finally_ ease the tension that gripped him still. He didn't feel any different than he ever had. Maybe he didn't have any fire, and never would…

Wanderer stirred next to him, then resumed his quiet snoring. Dreamer hoped he would have fire, he didn't want to rely on his friend for everything, or to be unable to protect him in turn. It would be naïve to think Dagur and Alvin were the only threats they would ever face, though he hoped he would never again face anyone quite so deplorable.

It brought forth a chuckle, thinking about how he was wishing for it. Years ago he would have snatched at the chance for such power, then probably tried to shoot dragons with it and ended up destroying half the village. After shooting down Toothless, he would have shunned it, and even as a younger dragon he had thought of it warily.

Three and a half years now, he had been a dragon. They felt the longest he had ever lived, and he'd certainly been through more than he had as a human.

As a human… Those memories were so very distant now, as if they belonged to someone else. There was a possibility they _did_ belong to someone else, but he didn't want to be that person anyway. Hiccup had been a clever Long-Paw, but foolish and brash, determined to force the world into his own narrow view of it. He had discovered he was wrong about dragons, and the guilt he had felt in trying to kill them – and almost succeeding, in such a terrible way – drove him to push that lesson onto everyone else.

Dreamer was not that person now. Dreamer was a clever Nightstriker, fierce and strong, who loved his best-friend with all his heart and wasn't afraid to show it. He was a fighter, despite what his past self had thought, but one who fought with words first and claws last. Amusingly, he now had trouble with the verbal part instead of the physical.

He sighed, ready for these thoughts to leave his head and allow him to rest. He was done with that part of his life now, all that was behind him. It was time to move on to brighter skies.

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_And so we conclude Act 1 - _wow_ is it good to reach this point, much later than I'd expected in both chapters and time, but we're here now. I expect this to have been the longest of the four acts, but I've been wrong before! Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, fav'd, and followed, and special thanks to VigoGrimborne for his assistance here and prior. This might be a small subset of a comparatively small fanbase of a franchise that is fading into the past, but the people who follow Dragon Hiccup stories, this one and others, have repeatedly proven themselves superb company over those I've talked to in others. I mean it, you guys are awesome._

_I've been writing this story for over a year now. It started as an outlet, somewhere to focus a lot of stuff I was dealing with at the time, but like Dreamer, I don't feel like that person anymore, with a better understanding of who and what I am. That said, I have no intention of stopping now, I fully intend to see this through to the end however long it takes._

_Particularly as now we can move on from Act 1, and start the game of Act 2… And on that note:_

**(( ukgvTE3A0Ic ))**  
"To The Sky"


	38. New Winds

Murky dreams mixed with a hazy reality, slowly escalating into a grim realisation that roused Dreamer from sleep.

Something was wrong.

He lurched to his paws, pulling away from Wanderer with a distressed groan. The arrow wound in his neck ached a little, having had two weeks to heal, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his chest, as if there was a claw lodged in his lungs. It felt like a squeezing of the tension that had gripped him over the last few months, which had not abated in the slightest, but he was terrified the arrow had hit something unexpected.

A wave of pressure rolled through him. _Oh no-!_ He stumbled for the entrance to the den, but the piercing pain in his chest peaked right as a second, much stronger pressure surged through his torso. He didn't make it, involuntarily bowing his head and heaving-

_Liquid fire_ poured from his mouth in a torrent of heat, splashing over the stone and reaching up with blue flames wherever it touched. He scrabbled back with a shriek, flames still dripping from his mouth, only to be hit by another wave of intense nausea. Again, before he could so much as think, he was covering even more of the den in burning flames, in a much more intense rush but with just as large a pool spreading across the floor. In his panic he had a fleeting fear of burning his den down.

He retched, forcing back a third wave, and squeaked frantically to Wanderer. His friend was awake and watching him in amusement in the flickering, eerily blue light, but offered no solution to the crisis.

Instead, after a few moments, Wanderer casually stood up, stretched, walked over to the first pool of blue fire, and lay down in it, purring and rolling onto his back.

Dreamer stared dumbfounded at him while the shock slowly wore off. Right… They were dragons with fireproof scales, living in a hole in the rock. Nothing here was remotely flammable. His mouth might still be _literally_ _on fire,_ but that wasn't something to worry about… as strange as that was.

He shook the fire from his mouth as best he could, then cautiously turned back to the second burning patch, crouching low and edging forward – realising at the last moment that trying to scent the flames was a great way to find out if his nostrils were fireproof. Wisely, he decided against testing that.

They were in a mostly enclosed area anyway, so it was easy to pick up a faint scent of something unrecognisable having been burned, but it was dissipating much more quickly than the flames. The second round _had_ felt a bit different, like a really satisfying belch. Speaking of, the pressure in his chest, what he had assumed to be tension, had eased dramatically and ached with relief. Now that he knew what it was, it was obvious.

He focused on it, but couldn't find any real way to interact with it. He clearly had it, and he had a sort of sense as to how much was in it, but he couldn't figure out how to use it.

Wait, no, he didn't need to figure it out. He'd just done it, and set about trying to recreate what his body had done on its own. Stomach held in, open his throat, open-

A gout of flame briefly shot from his mouth, this one white with orange flares, and then something like a hatch closed heavily in his throat and cut it off. That was why he had never been able to find it on his own, it actually required quite a lot of effort to open.

Wanderer crooned triumphantly, then fired a tiny blast at the floor to explode harmlessly against the rock, and the flames around them leapt and danced.

"This… normal?" Dreamer asked hesitantly.

"This what I do first time," Wanderer said with a shrug.

Dreamer firmly slapped him on the flank with his tail. "You could told me!"

"I not was told," he purred, rubbing his neck into the dying flames. "Also you worry if I told. Sleep now. Learn fire…" He yawned widely. "…in pawful of lights…"

Not tomorrow? _Hrrr,_ he probably needed to replenish it… This was going to be an odd thing to learn.

The warm patch of ground beckoned, and he rolled onto it – _oh _Thor_ that's comfortable…_ He stretched out, trying to maximise contact with the _divine_ heat with mad purrs. It quickly offset the adrenaline and excitement – it _was_ the middle of the night, after all – and he soon drifted off, thoughts on the warm fire that was apparently burning in his chest.

* * *

A Night Fury never steals food, never shows itself, and never misses.

Well, in a sense, Dreamer had stolen food, shown himself, and was now proving that he could, in fact, miss.

Actually, he would be happy to be missing the big rock he was trying to shoot. That would imply he was actually shooting at all.

"It like biting," Wanderer explained again, then made a motion as if biting a bug out of the air with a click of his teeth.

"I trying," Dreamer growled, trying to work the apparently magic muscles at the back of his throat to shape the fire as Wanderer was describing.

It was apparently made of two parts, but apparently three, but they weren't going into that yet, and Dreamer was only working on the actual firing mechanism to give him the Nightstriker's range. It involved creating a sort of shell out of the liquid fire in two halves, then pressing them together and expelling them from his mouth. The problem he was having was that it was _liquid,_ and trying to create any sort of shape out of a liquid was going about as well as could be expected.

The whole process was terribly complex, but he reasoned that, like with flying, once he figured it out and got used to it he would barely think about what he was doing. Arguably, flying was even _more_ complex due to the sheer number of muscles involved across six surfaces, to say nothing of how his head and body affected it.

But to further complicate things, he was only afforded a pawful of shots per day. In practising and using it, his fire was starting to replenish more quickly, but it wasn't as if he could just train for hours at a time like a Viking would in throwing an axe. The cumulative effect was that three weeks in, and reaching the end of summer, he still couldn't even fire reliably.

He growled in frustration and just squashed his last shot in his throat-

Then nearly fell over backwards as it suddenly launched itself from his mouth, the unexpected recoil jerking his head back. Maybe he shouldn't be sitting down for this.

A glob of what looked like glowing blue slime hit the boulder, stuck to it for a heartbeat, then disappeared in a pop of blue light and left a glowing patch of rock.

Dreamer stared at it. Then Wanderer chuckled, and that set him laughing as well.

"That… interesting," Wanderer crooned in amusement. "Not normal." He fired at the rock himself, but the blast immediately detonated to leave a second glowing patch. "But that good! I think you maybe need to press harder." He gnashed his teeth a few times, then again more forcefully with a loud click.

"None left," Dreamer chuffed, working his mouth and stretching.

Wanderer chuffed and stretched himself, arching his back and kneading the ground. "Try more next light. We fly?" He stared eagerly at Dreamer, shaking and flexing his wings and tail.

"You always want fly," Dreamer teased, shaking the lethargy from his own wings.

"You also!"

Dreamer chuffed agreeably and followed him into the air, working his wings for speed and aiming for the distant horizon, towards a blank spot in the map in his head near the edge of the known Archipelago.

Nearly a week's sailing by boat, cut down with a wail of the air to a mid-morning flight. Dreamer didn't even notice the time passing, just revelled in his snout piercing the wind, his wings cutting through the clouds, diving to dip his legs into the waves, and flying loops around his best-friend, all while screeching forward faster than anything else could even hope to travel.

He wasn't even disappointed when all they found was more water as far as even a Nightstriker's eye could see, and let out an elated roar with a little flip that spun him several times before he threw out his wings and levelled out.

Past this point was truly unknown, other than a few scant facts. There were more islands somewhere out there, some with people on them, but there had been no contact with them in living memory. Everyone was happy with sailing south to raid the rich lands there, there was no reason to branch out.

Dreamer saw differently. By killing the Green Death, he and Wanderer had unleashed a horde of dragons on the world, and it was their responsibility to ensure that wasn't causing problems.

That mission beckoned, his wings still strong and hungry… but not this light. Not until he could properly use his fire.

He turned and began the flight back, dropping to a slow glide to match Wanderer. "You want stay here?" he asked, picking up on his friend's reticence.

"No," came a firm reply. "Soon," he elaborated a short time later, "when both can use fire. Before cold-season."

_Hrrr,_ that would be nice. Spending the winter somewhere that _didn't_ completely bog them down in one place sounded _amazing._ He particularly didn't want to spend another one at the egg-island, not after last time; he couldn't deny the reality of the situation, but he didn't want to face it.

They flew much more lazily and slowly on the way back, taking the scenic route over the various islands, though they didn't land. Dreamer did, however, slow to inspect a small fleet of ships that were sailing away from… Berserk, by his best guess.

He furrowed his brow in thought as he looked down on them, trying to place the design. They were huge, but looked more designed for transport with proportionally wide hulls and high decks, like Johann's ship; a wider hull meant it would be a bit slower in the water, but could carry significantly more cargo in both volume and weight. He couldn't see much detail on the crest from this height and angle, other than that he didn't recognise it.

But what would they be doing at Berserk? Five such ships were excessive for trading with a dysfunctional tribe, and they were sailing away from anyone else, towards open sea.

Dreamer hummed warily and angled towards the island, Wanderer quickly gliding up beside him and crooning _worry, caution._ "Need see," Dreamer growled.

What they found was nothing like he had been expecting.

There was no fighting, and appeared to have been none for some time. There were still ships, in much better condition, but far fewer than before. Several thin figures were out tending to some of the fields and livestock, but many fields and pastures were bare and empty, while mere weeks ago they had been hotly contested.

He drifted down, just out of longbow range, to glide around the island. Easily half of the several villages around the coast seemed completely deserted, doors hanging open with nobody in sight.

Had they killed each other off in some huge battle? That wouldn't be entirely surprising, but it didn't explain the boats.

"I not like this," Wanderer growled.

Dreamer gave a low hum of assent. "We tell my sire." There was nothing to be done about it, but knowledge was always a useful thing.

* * *

If Dreamer had ever wondered why they had such thick necks, he had his answer.

He worked his head from side to side, stretching the muscles and trying to loosen up, then eyed the boulder several leaps' distance across the field while Wanderer quietly crooned _encouragement._

In swift motions, he let some of his air fire into his throat, clamped down around it with a shell of plasma, then braced for the stiff recoil as he let it launch itself from his mouth. The blue bolt streaked over the grass and struck the edge of the boulder, detonating in a loud and instantaneous explosion that momentarily flattened the grass around it.

Wanderer crooned excitedly and bounced around him, leaping high into the air.

"What next thing I learn?" Dreamer asked, ecstatically bouncing around to follow him; he would keep refining his technique, but he found it helped to be focusing on something else.

His friend pranced to a halt to look at him, then looked down at the boulder. "Aim," he said flatly.

Dreamer swatted at him. "I know that," he growled playfully.

"Stupid," Wanderer laughed, fending him off. "See." He opened his mouth and the now-familiar blue light glowed from it… but he didn't fire, just held it in his mouth with a piercing whine that quickly rose and levelled off, sounding very much like-

And then Dreamer's eyes flickered and twitched as his surroundings unexpectedly twisted into focus, revealing everything in every direction. The boulder in front of them was clear and crisp, as were several more around them, though the ground itself was smudgy.

He shook his head as the sound died off, blinking rapidly. It wasn't something he was unfamiliar with, he just hadn't been expecting it. "I not know we do that with fire too," he warbled.

"Fire very good," Wanderer chuffed. "Now you can shoot, need say this. Always keep one shot. When think how much fire you have, think one less shot."

"Why?" Dreamer asked curiously, sitting back on his haunches.

"For when need. Maybe use fire for warm rock, then hunting, then make dry after swim. Then maybe hunters attack you, kill many with fire but no fire left. Fight hunters off, but now no fire. Not can use if need." He chuffed. "If use one less against hunters, maybe save your life. Maybe save my life. Keep one for most need."

Dreamer hummed thoughtfully, seeing the logic behind it. There was also that if anyone were to observe them for a long time, for whatever reason and by whatever means, they would never know they kept that one last shot in reserve.

"Yes, that good thinking," he said agreeably. "But not tell Long-Paws." It wasn't that he didn't trust them, just that information they had told them before had fallen into the wrong hands already; which had actually worked in their favour, but only because it was incorrect.

Wanderer huffed. "Why I tell that?" He put on a horrendously forced and goofy grin. "Hey Fish-Legs, we keep one shot for save our life. _Bwah bwah bwah."_

Dreamer snorted, then laughed loudly. _"Bwah bwah,_ what that?"

"That how Long-Paws sound. _Bwah bwah bwah._ Long-Paw words stupid."

"You stupid!" Dreamer laughed, pouncing and wrestling his friend in the grass.

"Yes, I stupid Long-Paw!" he crowed, kicking Dreamer off and then pouncing him back. They rolled over each other several times, trying to pin, and then just lazily swatted at each other.

Until Wanderer got bored of that too and just dropped onto Dreamer, squeezing the air from him. At least he then licked up his neck, which was pleasant.

Wanderer suddenly barked, leaping from Dreamer. "We do thing!" he shouted happily, wings twitching with excitement.

"Thing?" Dreamer huffed, rolling to his paws.

"Yes! We not scared fledglings now!" He leaped into the air, flapping wildly for height and speed before the wind caught him. Dreamer tilted his head with a confused murr, then leaped into the sky himself.

Though when Wanderer dropped into a dive near the cove, he hastily dove to follow.

* * *

The warm sun off to the west cast an amazing orange glow over Berk, highlighting the bustle with long shadows as people started heading into the Great Hall.

Fishlegs sat at the top of the steps, meditating, while Meatlug meditated next to him. Her snores were just evidence of her immense calm and relaxation.

Which was something Fishlegs needed himself right now, with the news he bore.

As expected, the Furies drifted down to the village at around sundown, veering wildly in the air and generally showing off as they were prone to doing. He watched as one of them dropped like a stone, pulling up at the last possible moment to skim a roof and careen wildly up the main path, so casually in control and precise that he appeared to have no control at all. Plenty of people ducking and exclaiming grumpily, but not as much as a single apple knocked from a cart.

The other Fury swooped down to Fishlegs, passing him in a rush of air into a running landing-

And ran headlong into the pillar next to the door, crumpling into it, and then staggered away. The first Fury careened up the steps and tripped over the top one, crashing into the other Fury and landing in a dark heap of wings and tails.

"…Oh Thor," Fishlegs groaned, "you guys have been at the dragon nip, haven't you?"

After slowly extracting themselves, Hiccup – he could tell them apart by size now that they were next to each other – held up a paw, pincering his claws to a small distance, close to his face. He slowly keeled over as he did so, then threw his paw down to catch himself at the last moment.

Toothy looked at Fishlegs, then at Hiccup. _"Bwah bwah bwah,"_ he said with exaggerated movements of his mouth.

Both Furies literally fell over with gasping, heaving laughter, the deep pitch sounding like the bellows from the forge had come to life.

"Oh for…" Fishlegs uncrossed his legs with a sigh and stood up to walk over. "Come on guys, you'll have to teach me that word later-"

Or not, as now they were laughing so hard they seemed to be physically struggling to breathe, pawing at the air and ground while their wings and tails limply flopped around.

He sighed, then grinned apologetically at a stern woman who had just finished the climb to the hall to find most of the way blocked by two dopey Night Furies. "Guys! Come _on,_ you're blocking the door…"

Once upon a time he might have tried to move them, but they were now much larger than himself. He settled with pushing at Hiccup's side with his foot until the dragon relented and rolled out of the way, allowing the woman to pass, and calming a little as he did. And then he suddenly found his hindpaw to be a fascinating thing, flexing and clenching it in amazement. Then he stuck it in his mouth and chewed it.

"Guys, this is _serious,"_ Fishlegs pleaded, and something about his tone must have got their attention as their ears perked and their eyes lost some of their vacancy. "Remember what you said about Berserk?" Hiccup straightened and nodded, looking much more serious. "Well, we've been asking around. That's not the first time they've made that trip, they were seen about three weeks before on roughly the same course. And the rider staying with the Lava Louts said they even stopped there briefly, before he got there."

He took a deep breath. "They're dragon hunters."

Toothy growled angrily. Hiccup just stared in disbelief, then looked away with a sort of disappointed anger.

"There's not really anything we can do about it, they're not even operating in the Archipelago. I just didn't want you to find out half the story by overhearing someone."

_"We can do thing,"_ Hiccup growled. _"We can find them and-"_

He fired a small blast at the ground with a loud _crack._

_"Woah_ when did you learn to do that," Fishlegs blurted out, jumping back. "And should you _really_ be shooting fire when you're, well, drunk?"

_"I not that,"_ he said with a roll of his eyes, walking for the door_._ _"Sweet-grass not like rot-water."_ He subsequently walked head-first into the pillar, which he then angrily growled at before stalking inside.

"Yeah, sure it's not!" Fishlegs called in after him.

* * *

_"Let me get this straight. You want to fly out there, on your own, to fight people whose literal occupation is killing and trapping dragons?"_

Dreamer hummed thoughtfully. "Prefer not fight. Want show them dragons not bad. But probably will need fight, yes." He wasn't naïve enough to expect this would end entirely peacefully.

_"Pretty much,"_ Fishlegs responded on his behalf, taking liberties with the translation.

_"But it's safer here! I know we haven't…" _Stoick sighed heavily, rubbing his head, and then stared down into the village. _"We had problems, yes, but we're past that. Now, with Thornado…"_ He stroked the head of his dragon, lounging in the lean-to off the Chief's house.

Dreamer had _tried_ getting along with the Thunderdrum, but it turned out he was quite deaf and seemed to find the Nightstrikers annoying. Oh well, he didn't need to be friends with every dragon on the island.

_"Our village is used to you now,"_ Stoick continued._ "The other tribes don't have the resources to attack. We are the strongest tribe in the Archipelago. This is the safest place for you."_

Dreamer pawed at the scraggy grass, peering sideways down at the village from where they stood next to the Chief's hut. He knew every roof, every alley, every cliff and every ramp that went up them. He knew which people carried snacks on them, and which of those would share, he knew which people he could trust and which of those would give him belly rubs if given the chance. He had hunted every forest and flat on the island that contained prey, and explored all the others. On the other paw, there was a gaping hole in his mind, an all but blank map that just _begged_ to be charted.

While he brooded, a rush of wings announced Stormfly arriving with Astrid. _"Hey Chief, Toothy, Hiccup. Wow, what was in _your_ socks today?"_

"We too big for this nest," Wanderer told her, and Dreamer nodded emphatically; that was a very apt way of putting it. "Want go stop bad Long-Paw-hunters, now we have fire." He punctuated that with a growl, then turned to Stoick. "We tell you, not ask. Want thank you. You do us good."

Both Nightstrikers reared to hug and nuzzle the big man while Fishlegs filled Astrid in. While they did have their problems with Berk, Stoick alone had remained firmly on their side from the start and to the end, and while it broke Dreamer's heart to have to leave him he _did _have to leave; he was going to go crazy otherwise.

"We not asking," Wanderer repeated to Fishlegs and Astrid, "not fledglings now. We need find place for us. Want help other wing-hunters also."

_"But… That's a great idea!"_

The Nightstrikers stared slack-jawed at Astrid as she leaped down from Stormfly. _"Chief, Gobber talks all the time about when you two were our age, all the stuff you did! And everyone still treats us like kids! We need to go out there, and make our mark."_ She hesitated, then looked abashedly at the Nightstrikers. _"I mean, if you want to come with us."_

Dreamer and Wanderer shared a look, communicating in expressions alone. A bit of annoyance, but rationality as it would be safer to have help; human help could be particularly useful, in some circumstances. They could always set off on their own if it came to that.

_"You_ can follow _us,_ if want," Wanderer said sternly, and Dreamer nodded his assent.

Stoick sighed and shook his head. _"I would feel better knowing you had people with you, even if they're-"_ He cut himself off with a glance at Astrid, who just folded her arms and glared at him. _"Aye, I get your point, lass. You're right. Go, get some notches on your belt."_

Astrid smiled widely and nodded at him, her whole body shouting _elation._ _"When will you be leaving?"_ she asked Wanderer.

"Now," Wanderer huffed.

_"Ah-! Now?"_ She glanced at Fishlegs, who nodded at her. _"But… We're not ready! It'll be two or three days at the earliest… We need to have supplies put together, for food, building, repairs, are we staying for winter? Okay we need to get some cold weather gear made for flying. Oh but we need to travel light… Ah and some way to carry it all…"_

"You need too many things," Wanderer groaned. "Maybe we should fly now," he said to Dreamer. "If they can find us, they can come."

_"And of course, we need to prepare a feast to see you all off,"_ Stoick added heartily.

"We can wait," Wanderer decided, and Dreamer hid a snigger behind pawing at his nose.

* * *

Unable to stop his hanging jaw from drooling onto the floor, Dreamer stared at the largest plate of ribs he'd ever seen. There had to be a whole sheep's worth there at _least._

But then a stocky young boy carried out an even bigger plate of what looked to be a whole _yak's_ ribs and set it in front of Wanderer.

Dreamer stared back at his own plate. It was big enough, and the _smell_ was just _divine._ He almost didn't want to start eating, it was so beautiful. Almost.

The bones were a _little_ too solid to just bite through, but he appreciated that it made him slow down to pick the meat off them, providing just that much more of an experience. He had to focus on it, so he couldn't just wolf it down without enjoying it.

Although, he _did_ notice the boy who had brought them staring longingly at the plate. He couldn't be blamed for that, really, they were _delicious._ Dreamer purred at him, nudging a pair of averagely meaty ribs to the edge of the plate; it felt weird to be using his paw like that, but if he used his snout he'd just drool all over everything.

This was all a little different to what Dreamer was used to. The Nightstrikers were sat at the back of the Great Hall, and people were just bringing them food, mostly the teens arrayed around them. Some of them had even proven to know some Dragonese, which had resulted in some hilariously bad attempts at conversation. At least they'd been able to ask for water, though five large bowls between the two of them was excessive.

The ribs disappeared depressingly quickly, and Dreamer briefly wished he'd not given those two away… But just as he finished up, another teen brought over a large tray, shoving her way between two of her peers, and proudly set a big tray down between them that was laden with what looked like sausages.

Dreamer eyed them sceptically. Sausages were made by mincing anything and everything and stuffing it into an intestine, and could contain a lot of bread and vegetables. The last time he'd eaten one, he'd not felt so good afterward.

_"We made these just for you,"_ the girl chirped ecstatically, beaming at them with a faint undercurrent of _worry, tension._ _"I helped! We didn't know what was safe to give you, so they're all meat."_

Wanderer gave a _wary, thoughtful_ hum, then cut one open with a claw to scent it, and Dreamer put his nose to it as well. Bread didn't really have much a scent to pick up on, but it certainly _looked_ dense, and… was that kidney and liver he could smell? And other bits of offal as well? A hint of marrow? By the look of her she was an Ingerman, and her family wasn't prone to doing stupid things; not unintentionally, at least, sometimes they did stupid things just to see what would happen.

_Wrff,_ this was a night to enjoy, so what if he regretted it later? He bit into one-

His eyes glazed over as his teeth snipped through the crisp meat inside. "Taste bad," he said to Wanderer, who was watching him, and tried to paw the tray closer to himself. But his friend narrowed his eyes with a suspicious growl and quickly snatched one. _Eels,_ now he had to share.

They raced to ensure they got their half, which dulled Dreamer's enjoyment a bit, and they actually fought a little over the last few. The meat was heavy in his belly, but it felt amazing to have had a variety of meat, not just the muscle and fat.

The girl who had brought them was still beaming at them, but the uncertainty had been replaced with even more exuberance and pride. Dreamer purred at her and held his head forward, which she excitedly put her hand to-

He narrowed his eyes on the hand pressed to his snout, his good mood sinking. The hand was quickly withdrawn, the girl watching him with the face of someone desperately trying to work out what they'd done wrong, thinking of ways to appease him.

The other teens were glaring at her, or pouting, or muttering thoughtfully to themselves.

Dreamer took a deep breath, then purred at all of them; though it was a little forced, he doubted they'd notice. He then stood and walked around them, making his way towards the doors.

Even as he moved through the crowd, he couldn't help but see how parents pushed their kids towards him, how some of them offered food as he passed, though he declined with a polite tip of his head. Finally, he emerged into the cool night, and savoured the crisp wind before lethargically hopping into the air and winging into the sky.

Only as far as near the top of Berk's crooked spire, which he landed on carefully lest he break it. He shouldn't, as where he was perched was about as thick as a cart, but he wasn't a small dragon anymore.

No, he was much bigger now… big enough to be, for argument's sake, carrying a rider, and many had noticed it. Why hadn't _he_ noticed? The greed and longing was obvious, looking back, though to be fair to them it wasn't with entirely selfish motives like Alvin. They weren't trying to belittle him or make him a pet, not intentionally, they just wanted a Night Fury like their hero.

Not realising, of course, that said Night Fury _was_ their hero. _This is all so messed up…_

And this wasn't a recent thing. Thinking back, it had effectively started when they'd returned from their stay at the warm-nest, when Tuffnut started encouraging people to-

No, this wasn't his fault, he wouldn't do that. Some of them probably just got it into their heads to take it further. Now, with their imminent departure, everyone was pulling out the stops in the hope of… what? It wasn't like they were going to suddenly say, _wow, those were some nice sausages, guess I'll stay after all just to be your friend!_

He growled at himself; that was just being pessimistic. Those sausages were cured, which took longer than a few days, they wouldn't have got to try them at all otherwise. Also, in all likelihood, they would return to Berk at some point, or at least keep in contact. There was always the future to think of.

What a strange question… Did he _want_ a rider?

No, was the easy answer to that, Wanderer was all the companionship he needed of that kind. _Hrrr,_ but then he didn't _not_ want a human friend who put him above everything else in the world… he just doubted he was going to find such a person on Berk, or any of the Viking tribes. Not unless there was another Hiccup out there somewhere.

Certainly not in someone trying to buy his affection with food. _Wrrr,_ maybe he could, but not because of that.

How could he even be certain? He was a _Night Fury,_ there would always be people who coveted him for status and power. There just weren't any opportunities for anyone to prove themselves. Then again, maybe there _had_ been… How many times had they been in danger on Berk as fledglings? There could have been ways for someone to help selflessly…

Sudden wingbeats sounded below, and then Wanderer climbed up next to him. "You good?" he asked with a nuzzle.

"Yes," Dreamer replied truthfully; he wasn't actually in a bad mood, just less of a good mood. "I thinking."

"You dreaming," his friend teased, nipping his ear. "What you dream this night?"

"Long-Paw fledglings want be our friends," he replied mildly, picking at a loose rock and then listening to it tumble down towards the distant ground.

"Hrrr, they already friends," Wanderer purred.

Dreamer huffed. "They want be friends like you-me-you friends."

"Before you Nightstriker?" he asked, and Dreamer chuffed. "I not think they like Long-Paw-you," he warbled thoughtfully, "not would fight nest for us, not leave with us."

"I think that also. But they still try, give us much food."

"…That is bad?"

"I guess not," Dreamer laughed. "Come, we go back to much-food-thing." It didn't matter, tomorrow they would be flying for the horizon.

* * *

A general raucous surrounded them as the riders prepared to take off, fitting packs to their dragons behind the saddles and cramming in last-minute additions. Dreamer had offered to carry some supplies, though he needed none himself, but everyone had insisted on carrying their own things.

So he lounged on the rough grass, watching as Fishlegs' family went through an amusing cycle of handing him books, then arguing about the weight limit of a Gronckle over long-distance flying, and then someone would take the books off him while someone else handed him more. Fishlegs himself seemed a bit dazed by the whole thing.

Perhaps that was the prospect of flying off, with only a few days' notice, to some unknown land to fight dragon hunters. At least it wasn't a week's sailing to get home, as it had been in the past.

It was amusing how varied the different families were. Astrid's farewell was curt and short, but to a Nightstriker it was very obvious how much unspoken trust and respect was communicated. The younger members of her family, those who had joined them to say goodbye, stared up at her reverently.

The twins looked like they'd just been kicked out of bed and then turfed out of the house. While Dreamer watched, one of the other Thorstons walked up, threw a duffel bag at them, and walked off again without ceremony. They didn't seem to mind this.

And Snotlout was pouting sullenly at the ground, his father the only one with him and speaking in a low, firm growl. Dreamer _almost_ felt sorry for him, but not quite.

Wanderer suddenly glided down and trotted to a halt by Dreamer. "You… can help with thing?" he asked, his tone _abashed, nervous._ "Had thought, want do before leave."

"Yes, I help," Dreamer agreed with a curious warble. "We return soon," he said to the riders, and Tuffnut waved a lazy acknowledgement from where he lounged on Belch's neck.

They hopped into the air and coasted around the main island, Dreamer wondering what the other Nightstriker could want help with. Even flying lazily it was the work of moments to traverse the island, crossing the channel through it and descending to a sheltered outcrop of rock he didn't recognise. What were they…

His curious hum trailed off as he looked inside something alike a cave they'd landed several body-lengths from, formed by some rocks that had happened to stack against each other in a steep valley. Small trickles of water ran around it, and one even through it. There were two figures inside. One was a misshapen mess of fur, unrecognisable in the relative gloom of the cave, but the other…

The other was a Nightstriker. He could only see a vague outline, the deep shade difficult to pierce with the bright sky-fire illuminating everything else, but it was unmistakable. It was partially curled up, as if sleeping peacefully.

He suddenly became aware of Wanderer leaning around him, watching his reaction. Dreamer blinked himself out of his daze and gave him a _sombre, understanding_ croon, then shuffled his wings to encourage the reverent chills out of his back. This place felt… hallowed, the faint trickle of water a comfort to his ears among the tranquil background of rustling leaves.

It was clear what had to happen. There were already scorch marks around the ceiling of the makeshift cave, but Wanderer had explained they were still building their fire's strength and capacity. They were still only afforded up to three shots at any one time.

Three small shots, or one big one.

He took a deep breath, only partially exhaled, then tensed his chest and began shaping his fire. A shot like this needed building carefully, and while he didn't know if it could explode in his mouth he really didn't want to find out.

The plasma screeched as he shaped it, as if protesting his treatment of it, and somewhat clearer outlines of the cave met his ears. He remembered little of it, from when he had hatched, but he was fond of what he did remember.

He, as Wanderer likely did also, wanted it to remain that way. On the off-chance someone discovered this, there would be questions, and maybe even answers. It deserved to be remembered as he saw it now, without closing the distance and breaking the illusion.

Gripping the rock with his claws and sturdily bracing himself, he released most of his available air-fire into his mouth and clamped the shell around it, and his mouth snapped open of its own accord. His claws scraped the rock as two shots lanced into the darkness, his shot striking the back of the cave while Wanderer's struck the roof near the entrance.

The rocks supporting it leapt, as if startled from sleep, and then Dreamer was forced to shield himself with a wing against the intense heat and debris that assaulted him. When he looked again, there was only a mound of damp dirt and rocks, unremarkable other than the clearly recent disturbance that would fade with time.

Wanderer warbled gratefully, and gave him a brief nuzzle before hopping into the air and flapping into the sky. Dreamer followed, inexplicably humbled by the experience.

They landed back with the riders, who seemed to be going over a last check while they waited, ensuring the saddles were in good condition and properly fitted. It seemed they would be ready imminently.

_"Toothy, Hiccup…"_

Both Nightstrikers turned to the Chief, tilting their heads with a purr.

_"…Good luck out there,"_ he said solemnly, _"and… be careful."_

They gave him a short nod, then Wanderer barked and strode to the nearby cliff overlooking the sea. He spared a brief look back before flapping into the air, and Dreamer followed along with four dragons carrying five riders.

He had been out into the world many times before, had flown farther in a day than many Hooligans had been in their lives, and this didn't really feel any different. But he could no longer see what was in front of him, what was to come. He would not be returning at the end of the day, or playing with his sire after a meal, or flapping up into their cozy little den in the cliff.

The future was now vast and unknowable, so full of possibility. He had no idea where he would be when the sky-fire quenched in the sea. Far from being frightening, it filled him with a giddy excitement that let itself be known in his voice, which roared loudly, and his wings, which carried him high into the sky.

As he looped over his back and let gravity claim him, he idly angled for the others… noticing that Wanderer had already needed to slow down to let the riders catch up. He flared his wings and dropped smoothly into formation, matching their pace, and groaned. It was only half their usual pace, if even that; this was going to take forever to get anywhere.

But even still, he took a deep breath of fresh sea air and relished it. This was one journey he didn't mind so much taking his time on.

* * *

_Rest…_

Dreamer yawned widely, trying to focus on where they were going. Not that they really had anywhere in mind, other than 'east', but it wasn't as if he could just fall asleep in the air and keep flying.

_Weary…_

Fix in his mind what they were looking for. An island, one with running water and therefore probably a snow-capped mountain, some forests to hunt wild game in on occasion, and somewhere with a high cave to roost in.

_Land…_

They'd nearly found what they were looking for yesterday, but it was covered in extremely aggressive wild boars. That initially didn't seem much of an issue – dragons and riders both had all eaten _very_ well that night – but unless they wanted to hunt the forest clean of the beasts, nobody would ever be finding rest. While the Nightstrikers had been quite comfortable sleeping in the trees, the others had been less so, and the constant squeals and grunting had been difficult enough to sleep through.

_Safety…_

But this island they were coming up to looked better. Wanderer seemed to think so too, as he was already angled for it. Perhaps a little small, but covered in tall rocky pillars that seemed quite inviting, woven through with light vegetation.

_Here…_

_"Uhh, Hiccup?"_ Fishlegs asked uncertainly. _"Where are we going?"_

Dreamer snorted at him with a roll of his eyes. They were going here, obviously.

They descended into a small clearing, scents of various dragons assaulting Dreamer's nose. There were common dragons, but also several he didn't recognise… New species of dragon! Fish-Legs would be ecstatic.

_"This place gives me the creeps,"_ Snotlout whined petulantly. _"Is it just me?"_

"Fly back if you not like," Wanderer huffed at him.

_"No, I know what you mean,"_ Astrid agreed with a chill in her voice. _"Toothy, Hiccup, mind filling us in? What are we doing here?"_

"Come, see," Dreamer suggested, walking through a path between tall rocks, and the riders all gave quiet huffs of surprise as their dragons followed.

The passage opened out into a large pit, just as expected. It was as if he'd been here before… This was a good place. He inspected one of the many strange rocks on the ground, light green and translucent. Peculiar…

A wave of drowsiness washed over him. They'd been flying for hours with a poor night's sleep, and the boar had been a heavy meal. He knew this was a good place to sleep, and sought out Wanderer, stumbling through the grass. Nearby, the riders were making some noise, but that wasn't-

Adrenaline suddenly flooded through him, but without warning of why, and too late. In the next instant, something soft but heavy impacted with his shoulders, back, and flanks, and rapidly expanded and hardened even as it splashed down around him. He roared, fighting the substance that encased him, but he was stuck fast.

* * *

Astrid vaulted from the saddle an instant before it was hit by something that was not solid rock, but then somehow suddenly was. She slammed her fists against the strange stuff encasing Stormfly, then swiftly grabbed her axe and swung it, but the blade just bit shallowly into the surface.

A quick glance around showed the other dragons in similar predicaments, and as she watched, Hookfang took several more hits and was completely immobilised. "Run!" she shouted, hoping the other riders hadn't been trapped on their saddles.

There were footsteps behind her as she reached the entrance to the pit, and she rounded the corner to the sound of more of the stuff hitting the walls behind her.

She pressed herself to the wall with her axe held ready, taking stock of the situation. Only one other had made it… Snotlout, of _course._ Fishlegs would have been too much to ask for.

"What the Hel _was_ that thing?" he hissed, peering back the way they had come.

"Did you get a look at it?" she asked, hoping-

"Yeah, it had weird markings on its wings," he supplied unhelpfully. Yes, Fishlegs would have been _far_ too much to ask for…

"Just stay back," she whispered tensely at him, and shoved around him to peer back into the pit. She couldn't hear any wings or sounds of pursuit, so it must still be back there.

A long, thin dragon flitted between Stormfly and the others, staying above them and thus out of range of any fire. She watched helplessly as it grabbed Stormfly in its huge legs and effortlessly lifted her into the air, clearly intent on taking her somewhere.

"Come on, we gotta follow it," Astrid whispered, then started scaling the wall. They would be more exposed outside this little canyon, but on their way down she had seen ample rocks and trees to use for cover.

"Why the Hel are we here in the first place," Snotlout grumbled, keeping pace just underneath her.

"Figure that out later. First we gotta free our dragons."

Astrid reached the top and ducked behind a tree, watching for where it went, then followed cautiously. They were slow, on foot, but the dragon was flying back and forth to somewhere just out of sight so it was easy enough to follow. But…

"Could you be any louder?" Astrid hissed as Snotlout stomped along ahead of her.

"Could you be any _slower?"_ he shot back. "If that thing eats my Hookfang before we get there, I'll tie you up by your ankles and drop rats up your shirt."

"If it catches us, I'll make sure it eats you first."

"Well I'd better hope you _shut up_ then, because it's more likely to hear your _whining_ than me running!"

Astrid caught herself before she could make another retort. She could be more mature than this, and helping her dragon, _all_ the dragons, came first.

They vaulted a steep lip on a tall rise and slid down the other side, then flattened to a trunk of a tree as the thing emerged from a cliff ahead of them and flew overhead. "That must be its cave," Astrid whispered, and then they were running again only to hide while it carried what looked like Meatlug, the third dragon, away.

A quick duck behind some boulders while it left to get the fourth dragon, and then they were at the base of the cliff, the ground again littered with the strange semi-clear rocks.

"Alright," Astrid said grimly, "we're going to wait until it comes back, then start climbing up. When it leaves again, we'll be able to duck inside."

"Who put you in charge?" Snotlout growled.

"I did," she replied shortly. "Now quit arguing and just do as you're told." She didn't wait for a response, creeping forward to look for the optimal way up-

And suddenly realised the rocks she was standing on were not rocks, but _bodies._ A sunken, hollow Gronckle face just in front of her gaped at the sky, just a mask of skin hanging loosely over a skull. It looked hollow, as if it had rotted away, though that didn't explain the colour that remained in its skin. She gave a significant look back at Snotlout, gesturing sharply at the corpse, and he paled a little; she wouldn't hold that against him, she felt a bit pale herself.

At least the pile of carcasses left some cover, which she made use of as the dragon returned. The moment it was inside, she leaped for the wall and grabbed it, hefting herself up and quietly climbing the rocks. Snotlout was right beside her, his face grim and determined. Only to be expected, as Hookfang had been the latest prize to be carried back. That just left Barf and Belch, and one of the Furies.

They hadn't quite reached the cave entrance when it leaped out again, flapping its enormous wings and angling back to the canyon. They had a few minutes at best. "Fishlegs," she quietly called out as she hauled herself up.

"Astrid? Is that you? Did it get you too? I don't know what it wants, but I'm pretty sure it's not going to eat us… Unless it's got some way of getting this stuff off."

"No, Snotlout and I got away," she explained as she rushed over, checking the dragons. "And that depends, is it possible to eat the middle of something but leave the skin and bones intact?"

"Hmm, Zipplebacks inject a venom to predigest their prey. Maybe if…"

"Well then you probably don't want to know," she decided, checking over Stormfly. "Hey girl, you okay…?" The Nadder seemed to be fighting with herself, flipping between calm and frightened. She hoped it wasn't too late…

"Any ideas on getting this stuff off?" she asked Fishlegs, taking another futile swing of her axe.

"Well, if an axe doesn't work, we'll have to hope fire does," he said shortly, through rapid breaths. "That or gravity."

Given the mostly intact shells outside, gravity was out already. So that just left fire. "Snotlout, can-"

She ducked behind Stormfly as the strange dragon flapped back into its cave, depositing Barf and Belch in the middle. It then hopped around the collection it had, deciding on moving Meatlug up next to Stormfly to make room, and put the Zippleback in its place. It then moved the Fury a bit, and leaped back outside.

"Oh, hey guys," Tuffnut said mildly from Belch's neck, frozen in a half-dismounted position. "What's up?"

"You know, aside from imminent familiarity with the digestion process," Ruffnut groaned next to him, almost entirely upside down.

Astrid suddenly noticed the dragons were arranged so that none were facing each other, and it had taken care in hitting their necks with its hardening spit so that the dragons could not turn… Fire was looking promising. "Snotlout, get Hookfang to light up," she said tersely.

"I've been trying," he grated back, "I think the clicky things on his back are all gunked up."

"Any ignition source will do," Fishlegs supplied tensely. "Just get us out of this, _please?"_

Moving the dragons was out of the question… She tore her shirt off and wrapped it around her axe, then had Stormfly light it – a small difficulty in itself with her dragon being somewhat vacant – and hurried over to Hookfang. "Get him to free the Fury when he's out," she hissed, and for once Snotlout leapt to obey.

She got a small patch of his leg lit… and it _was_ melting the rock, but slowly, too slowly. "Come on," she urged, waving the flames around under him. After what seemed like an eternity, the fire started really spreading, the strange rock falling away in chunks and forcing Astrid back with the heat. It was working!

But his neck was still seized, which he didn't coat in his flammable slime so that Snotlout could actually ride him. He wouldn't offer much of a fight, they needed another dragon free, and even if the Fury wasn't the best pick he was the only one not carrying supplies; Hookfang's were the only bag they'd made fireproof, though he'd been the obvious choice for the one treated bag they could get on short notice. She could certainly try to fight the dragon herself, but didn't feel all that confident with it being the size of a small _house._

Hookfang finally broke free with a jerk of his body and a clatter of the stuff, shook himself off as best he could, then at a kick from Snotlout, turned to cover the Fury in his liquid fire.

Moments before the hostile dragon returned.

* * *

Dreamer could hear it now. It was stronger when the dragon was near, but it carried far.

It couldn't be called a sound. Maybe it was, there was a muffled sense in his ears that was like other sounds were being drowned out, but he couldn't _hear_ anything.

Oh well, he didn't need to worry about it, and soon there would be much food. Everything was-

_No!_ He'd been attacked, couldn't move, and this thing was… trying to take over his thoughts! He had to focus, but his thoughts slipped from him like water. Something to focus on. The feast. Yes, focus on the upcoming feast. Where was it again? This field he was in was pleasant, but he couldn't see any food.

His mind wandered, trying to find an answer to that question, until hushed voices caught his ears. Not what they were saying, he was too busy fighting himself to work it out. It was difficult to even focus on that there _were_ voices… The tones spoke of wariness and danger. Yes, danger, he was in danger.

He repeated the word in his head, concentrating as the not-sound pressed harder, but it was increasingly difficult, and he was so tired, and they would eat soon…

A warmth spread around him, and his body suddenly lurched forwards. His eyes opened reflexively, and he was suddenly disoriented by having _two_ sets of vision, one in a dark cave and the other in a bright field.

But it _smelled_ of a cave. The field was false. He shook his head and forced it down-

_Submit_

Something connected and he was able to turn to the source, something silhouetted in the entrance. There was a false-image of this too, but he could see the real version.

But both images, reality and false, were of six eyes bearing down on him from a large angular head that was reaching into the cave.

_Come, submit!_

A queen… _His_ quee-

_NO!_

A shot built itself purely by rote for having done so several times a day over the last month, and a blue light lanced away from him and struck the dragon squarely between its six eyes.

The head distorted and crumpled, then slid back out of sight. With its departure, the war over his thoughts ebbed away, leaving clarity and coherency. He was in a cave, most certainly not safe or at peace, and had probably just killed… something.

Probably not another queen, not that easily. He shuddered at the memory, still hazy even with his thoughts now clearing. Good thing he had problems with authority.

_"You okay there?"_ Astrid asked, and he turned to her. She was looking around him, lit by a strange warm light. Strange, because he himself appeared to be the source of it.

Because he was on fire.

He yelped more in surprise than anything, leaping out of the flaming pool around him and then rolling on the ground. Fireproof he may be, but Nightmare fire was particularly hot and would no doubt leave his hide feeling raw and dry, as it had once before. _Wrrr,_ at least this time he'd have help to-

"Wanderer!" he barked, flinging himself to his paws and leaping to his friend at the mouth of the cave. The other Nightstriker was blinking rapidly, looking dazed. "Dreamer," he warbled in a questioning tone, though he couldn't so much as tilt his head to make it a question, being quite immobilised.

Dreamer cut through the rock with a stream of fire, quickly melting it but only in a thin line. That wasn't going to work. Thinking quickly, he then poured some of his plasma over his friend's back. _Totally useless indeed…_ It trashed his shot limit, being slower to replenish than the gas, but he kept enough for one shot as always.

He was tackled almost before his friend was free, Wanderer nuzzling into his chest. Dreamer recognised his need for reassurance, and wrapped him tightly in wings.

But he couldn't say it had been any easier for himself. To have his mind literally invaded, as if it were a physical thing that could be poked and prodded, to think thoughts that weren't his own. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to live like that, day in, day out… and the thoughts and memories weren't correcting themselves. He still thought he'd seen a queen, though it had died far too easily to actually be one.

_"Fascinating,"_ he heard Fishlegs say. _"It's sort of like amber. I've never heard of a dragon that shoots amber before."_

_"Hey quiet,"_ Tuffnut said tensely, and everyone went still and silent. _"Has anyone noticed… the creepy vibe has gone?"_

_"…Huh,"_ the other four riders all said at the same time.

_"Think that was messing the dragons up?"_ Astrid asked.

_"Probably…"_ Fishlegs mused._ "Hiccup?"_

"Maybe," Dreamer hummed from his back, then nudged Wanderer off to flip upright. "Had bad thoughts put in head. Stopped now."

_"Toothy, can I get a hand here?"_ Ruffnut asked, still encased in amber and hanging upside-down from Barf's neck. Snotlout and Astrid were free… though Astrid was sans one shirt, chest only covered with a tight fabric wrap. Snotlout was sneaking her looks but without the usual leering, which was odd given the circumstance. Fishlegs was free of Meatlug at least, though his lower half was still encased.

Dreamer shook his head; not much he could do about any of that. "I need see," he hummed warily, padding to the edge of the cave.

"I come," Wanderer agreed, ignoring Ruffnut to hop out into the air with him, and they glided to the ground.

The strange dragon was on its side, sightless eyes wide and betraying no emotion. It was definitely dead, Dreamer's blast having caved in its chest; lucky he hadn't put any _more_ fire into it, or this could have been a far more gruesome sight.

It took Dreamer a little while to work out why he'd thought it had six eyes, eventually noticing the patterns on its wing. Three large blue circles, containing a swirl of tones that really did look like great big eyes if he squinted a bit.

"What this scale-wing-hunter called?" he asked quietly.

"I not have name. Maybe 'Song-Hunter'."

He'd heard that word before… "'Song' word for put thoughts in head?"

"Yes. It hunt using Song."

The others landed around them a short while later, all now freed of the amber, and approached the Song-Hunter warily. _"Is it dead?"_ Fishlegs squeaked.

_"Looks like,"_ Astrid replied, hopping down from Stormfly and approaching warily. _"But what is it?"_

"We call it Song-Hunter," Dreamer said flatly, still staring at it. Something else he had killed, but out of necessity this time; the corpses it had landed among spoke for themselves.

_"A what hunter?"_ Fishlegs asked, creeping forward as curiosity overpowered his fear.

Dreamer hummed thoughtfully, trying to find a word to compare it to. It was a constant sound, or near enough to… "Like when make words in noise."

_"Make words in noise?"_ Fishlegs repeated. _"I don't get it."_

_"Singing, you numbskull,"_ Ruffnut growled.

Tuffnut thoughtfully stroked his chin. _"Song Hunter? That sounds lame. How about… Death Song!"_

_"We're not calling it a Death Song,"_ Fishlegs groaned.

_"Death Song it is!"_ Snotlout shouted.

How was everyone getting over this so quickly? They'd all been so helpless… Sure, the Vikings hadn't had a constant fight over their own thoughts, but still…

Wanderer, apparently reading his mind – with some very real and frightening connotations to that turn of phrase – padded over and nuzzled his neck, then scratched errant pieces of amber out of his frills and wing-shoulder. "Having fire not mean we not can be eaten," he hummed. "It very strong fire, but not always can use it. I… needed fly nest too young, fire not help family then."

Dreamer couldn't help his ears going up at that. Wanderer spoke rarely enough of his past, and only mentioned his sire and dam in passing. He gave the impression that he didn't want to talk about it, so Dreamer didn't pry, but he wished he would.

"Wrr, you know that now," he crooned, then grimaced at the bodies. "I want leave."

"Me also," Dreamer vehemently agreed, prompted the others with a twitch of his wings, and soon they were leaving the dreadful place behind them.

_"Sooo, I guess it's a good thing we came along, huh,"_ Astrid called over somewhat smugly as she drifted up next to them.

"Yes, good you come," Dreamer groaned, though with a grateful lilt. He'd still ended up being the one to kill the thing, but only the riders' actions had allowed him to do that.

_"Hey, I've been thinking,"_ Tuffnut called out, pulling up on Astrid's other side. _"We need, like dragon names. The Furies can't say ours. Well, except for Fishlegs', but the rest of us have proper nonsensical names."_

That was… a really good idea, actually. Referring to a specific Long-Paw had been awkward at best so far, but thankfully not something they'd needed to do much. Going forward, it was going to be more of a problem.

_"I've already got one, _'Boundless',_ I think. Whatever that means."_

Wanderer groaned under his breath, and Dreamer found something interesting to look at on the other side of the sky. _What were we _thinking_ when we called him that…?_ He'd done very well to remember it, but Dreamer wished he hadn't.

_"Why, is that not a good name? Why'd you call me it then?"_

"Because we still stupid hatchlings then," Wanderer grumbled, pointedly staring straight ahead.

After the laughing and jeering died down, they thought long and hard on what they were going to be called, occasionally bouncing things off each other.

"Nightstriker names say thing about Nightstriker," Wanderer explained to Fishlegs while Dreamer listened intently. "I choose name Wanderer because I fly many skies." He swatted at Dreamer with a downstroke of his wings. "Dreamer always has head in clouds," he teased.

_"Huh, so I might be, um, 'Meditator'?"_ Fishlegs asked.

"I not know that word," Wanderer huffed.

_"Ummm, Astrid might be 'Fighter'?"_

"No, females doing things. Males just want do things." He grumbled under his breath for a few moments. "She maybe 'Fighting'."

Dreamer's ears went up, that was a detail he hadn't known before. Though he was now very curious as to why Fishlegs would look immensely relieved upon learning this, as nothing was coming to mind to explain it.

"But not think that good name," he continued. "Maybe… No, I not want give them Nightstriker names. They Long-Paws. Let them make own names."

_"Yeah, fair enough I suppose. Thanks, I owe you some dried fish."_ Both Nightstrikers purred heartily at that.

The twins were having a _little_ too much fun just growling at each other, and were only encouraged when Wanderer drifted over and growled at them properly as the Nightstrikers would be the only ones actually using the names. But then Ruffnut realised it would always sound like they were in trouble, which killed their enthusiasm for that particular idea.

Though Snotlout's first attempt had sounded so close to 'Eel-Breath' that Dreamer couldn't keep his face straight in agreeing, so much that he got suspicious and drifted away to think up another one. Eventually, everyone settled on something that was a twisting of some existing word.

Modified versions of 'nonsense' and 'trouble' for Ruffnut and Tuffnut, which sounded similar, 'fierce' for Astrid, and 'strong' for Snotlout. Fishlegs readily kept his rough translation of his Long-Paw name, being used to it already.

"Astrid, Snotlout, Ruffnut, Tuffnut," Dreamer mused, trying the names with his Nightstriker mouth and deeming them acceptable. "Also Fish-Legs. We happy you come."

"Even if fly slower than Small-Wing that not can see," Wanderer grumbled light-heartedly.

"Even if that," Dreamer agreed. "Not know if Death-Song eat us if you not come, but you come, it not eat us." He roared happily, whatever doubts he'd had about bringing the young riders, he was now more than enthusiastic about it.

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_It turns out, when you take a family-rated franchise and add depth and a healthy dose of reality (and consistency), what is casually skimmed over in canon can get pretty dark pretty quickly. It's not quite what I was aiming for with this first chapter, but I kept it here for several reasons, among those being setting the tone and meta premise for the second arc. This is no more Race To The Edge than the first arc was Defenders of Berk._


	39. Dragon's Nest

Wanderer stayed with the Long-Paws long enough for them to start agreeing this was a good small-land before racing ahead to check it out properly. It was big, maybe half the size of the Long-Paw nest small-land, and contained a nice variety of terrain. There were also still patches of snow on the taller reaches of land, which Dreamer explained would provide a reliable source of moving water.

But he needed to _feel_ the land, see how it suited them, maybe stay a few nights. They would then fly to other small-lands and do the same, and pick the best one out of them all. There was no rush.

The bickering of the Long-Paws faded into the distance as he pumped his wings and split the sky, momentarily forgetting what he was doing and letting out a joyous roar. But his sound-sight revealing the land below reminded him of his task, which admittedly _was_ more important than just flying. Even if he hadn't yet had a chance to really fly with these slow Long-Paws dragging on his tail.

He dove between the tall reaches of land, lazily drifting side to side, and pulled up to skim his claws across the surface of a large lake. Sadly, it didn't seem to have any fish in it, but they had the sea for that. He banked hard and flapped into a landing on the grassy shore, then put his nose to the water. It smelled clean and fresh, and tasted it too. Dreamer, forgoing caution, pulled into a hover above the lake and then dropped backwards into it with a happy shout.

Wanderer huffed in amusement and slipped in after him, revelling in the cool caress of the water over his scales. It was deeper than he had thought, and much larger than the one at the Long-Paw nest. Yes, this was good, he looked forward to coming back at night.

Dreamer lunged playfully at him, but Wanderer snaked away and powered back to the shore, hopped out onto the bank to shake himself off, then bounded across the long grass and into the trees. He noted with satisfaction that the grass near the trees had been trimmed, suggesting there would be prey to find and hunt.

The sound of pursuit told him that Dreamer had a different idea of what to hunt, and they tore through the forest in a giddy chase. The further in they ran, the denser the trees became and the more Dreamer's agility overcame Wanderer's raw speed, until he pounced Wanderer's flank and sped off.

Wanderer just trotted to a halt and stood there, panting lightly, to look around. Small wing-prey twittered and chirped all around him, and the wind gently played through the broad leaves of the trees.

"Hrrr, these trees different than trees at Long-Paw nest," Dreamer warbled, trotting back into sight. "I think cold-season warmer here."

"That good," Wanderer agreed, then hopped over to the nearest tree and deftly climbed up the trunk. It was a bit softer than he was used to, allowing his claws an easier and firmer grip, but the branches also flexed more easily and felt generally weaker. That wasn't an issue, just something to be aware of.

There were also strange scents on them, some sort of hunter… He gestured to Dreamer, who flapped up and grabbed the underside of the branch to scent it himself with a wary hum.

Then the branch broke, pitching them down and depositing them on the ground with twin shrieks of surprise.

Wanderer shook himself off, then scratched at where some sharp twigs had pricked his hide before bounding back to the edge of the forest; the canopy was too thick to just fly through, and he hadn't seen any clearings yet.

Once back in the air, they lazily flew around to inspect the fields and cliffs, look for caves, and generally familiarise themselves with the small-land.

Much of the light had passed when they finally returned to the Long-Paws… who were still bickering, even as they spread out their Long-Paw things.

_"Well,"_ Fish-Legs sighed as the Nightstrikers walked over to see what they were doing, _"about the only thing we've decided on is that it's a good place."_

"Yes, good place," Wanderer agreed. "What more need do?"

_"We can't decide on the design of our –,"_ he groaned.

Ruffnut stomped over, throwing her forelegs around. _"I'm telling you, open plan is the way forward,"_ she shouted, making no sense whatsoever. _"And that way, we can build a boar – in the middle!"_

_"But that'll leave us wide open!"_ Astrid shouted, pointing at some lines in the dirt. _"We might have to defend ourselves, and one big building makes us an easy –."_

They continued bickering in much the same manner, most of it unintelligible nonsense, until the sounds were ringing painfully in Wanderer's ears. He roared angrily, silencing them. "What problem?" he asked Dreamer tiredly.

"Hrrr, I think they argue for what den to make," he grumbled back.

"Long-Paws can make dens?" he blurted out without thinking. Of course they could, they shaped trees in their strange ways and made all sorts of nonsense; clearly their dens were made in the same way, and he was fairly sure they'd somehow dug into solid rock to make a den for the Nightstrikers. "Why arguing then?" he huffed. "I not think you all want share den. Make own dens."

They stared at him as if he'd slapped them with his tail, except Ruffnut who just looked confused.

"But that not matter," he continued with a huff. "This good small-land, but we keep looking. Maybe find better small-land."

_"What!?"_ Fishlegs exclaimed. _"But it took us a week to find this one! At this rate we won't even have a shelter built for winter!"_

"That because you fly slow," Wanderer growled; he wasn't happy about that either. "But we not find den we like, also no sweet-grass on this small-land." The latter wasn't something they _needed,_ but he would definitely take it if given the choice. Although, it might actually be necessary for his sanity if these stupid Long-Paws were going to be like this the whole time. He was tempted to just fly off and leave them here, it wasn't the Nightstrikers' problem if they couldn't keep up.

_"We can make you a cave,"_ Astrid said slowly. _"Exactly the way you want it. No searching or luck needed."_ Wanderer grumbled under his breath, true enough that solved one problem, but he still-

_"And we can just grow some dragon nip,"_ Fish-Legs chirped.

Wanderer's mouth fell open as he stared at him.

_"Does someone wanna fill me in here?"_ Ruffnut complained petulantly while the other Long-Paws laughed.

_"Just introducing a dragon to the idea of farming,"_ Tuffnut chuckled, Wanderer committing that _very_ important word to memory.

_"What, growing dragon nip?"_ she asked questioningly, then looked at Wanderer with a faint grin. _"I'd have thought he'd be more interested in how we grow meat."_

…There was no way. Long-Paws were clever, he could sort of imagine them taking their strange claws to a patch of ground and there being sweet-grass there when they were done, but they couldn't just… _make_ prey.

…Could they?

Tuffnut leaned in towards his sister with a wide grin. _"I think you broke him."_

* * *

The base was coming together, slowly but surely. The riders each worked on their own huts, with the occasional helping hand from each other and a lot of trial and error. The same went for the Nightstriker's den.

_"Okay Meatlug, you're up."_

Dreamer, hanging above the entrance with his head poking inside, watched as Meatlug shuffled over and took great bites of the rock, shattering the column with her crushing jaw and then crunching up the pieces. A sweaty Fishlegs then took his place again and started swinging with the pickaxe to dig out another column.

Deeming the progress satisfactory, Dreamer pushed from the cliff and drifted around the rough flats and ledges that rimmed the wide bay they'd claimed, seeing if there was anything he could help with. The progress here looked slower, but only really because everyone was still building the support structures and had yet to start laying down floors or walls.

They'd also agreed to build a communal area, but while they could have all chipped in and got that done first to get a roof to sleep under, they apparently found that idea offensive and would rather sleep on the dirt for a while longer.

Though Dreamer understood the sentiment. Even had a solid roof been completed already, he'd still be out sleeping on the ledges surrounding the base. He _was_ a dragon, but the riders had their own dragons to snuggle up to so it wasn't as bad as it could be. A little worse for Fishlegs because his dragon's wings were not suitable for sleeping under, but there were places the occasional rain did not reach.

Dreamer watched as Astrid hopped onto Stormfly and took off towards the forest they'd been logging, and drifted over to her. She didn't even notice him, just sat in the saddle with a scowl.

He rolled his eyes and just coasted along with her, he didn't know what was going on between her and Snotlout but he was getting pretty close to getting involved. The pair were practically at each other's throats, refusing to cooperate and barely even talking. Which was stupid, how was anyone supposed to resolve an issue by just ignoring it?

Astrid snorted disdainfully at the trees that had been felled, hopping down and inspecting one with tense mutters. Apparently deeming it acceptable, she hacked away at the branches with a small wood axe, and Dreamer helpfully cleared them away as they were separated from the trunk. She seemed to be working some frustration out on the wood, jaw clenched and brows furrowed, and barely acknowledged he was there.

With the tree now more resembling a log, she hopped back onto Stormfly who needed no prompting to grab it and take it back to the beginnings of Astrid's hut, on a bluff overlooking the bay and much of the coast. She was clearly planning to build up a bit, which would give her an excellent tactical view. It was very Astrid.

Dreamer dropped the stack of branches he was carrying nearby, a collection of various sizes – if she had no use for them now, she would find a use later – and winged over to the twins.

Their hut sat a bit lower, on a level flat that was just generally difficult to get to. The first thing they had done was actually dig out what they called a boar pit, which presumably was intended to contain one or more boars at some point. Dreamer wasn't entirely sure what they were intending on doing with the boars after that, and didn't really care to find out. He'd stick to hunting his own.

He helped hold a pillar in place while they fit the crossbeams to it, slotting into a sturdy fitting chiselled into the wood that needed no nails or bindings but rather just used gravity and the support of the structure. It was weird to see them acting so seriously about something… but then all became right with the world when they tested the stability of the structure by swinging off the beams and jumping around on it, jeering at Barf and Belch who snapped playfully at their feet. Dreamer left them to it.

Fishlegs was working on the Nightstriker's den and as such hadn't really made much progress with his own house. Once he was done mining out the entrance the others would take over in digging out a larger area inside, able to start working in multiple directions so that Meatlug could make infrequent trips. But he had the foundation of his hut laid out, on the widest flat of land extending from the cliff. The space was necessary for the small farm plot next to it, which was already growing little sprouts; by the time their preserves ran out, they should have some fresh vegetables.

He hadn't really wanted to be the one to do the farming, but the moment he made the mistake of saying _anyone_ could do it because he'd brought a book, he'd been unanimously nominated. Dreamer suspected any more such tomes of wisdom would not be revealed unless necessary, though he seemed to quite enjoy the job once he'd started on it.

And then there was Snotlout's house. He'd somehow made the most progress, despite also being the one busily logging the nearby trees for everyone to use. Perhaps that wasn't so surprising, Dreamer hadn't seen him relaxing or goofing off yet, when he wasn't sleeping he was hard at work. It was actually quite impressive.

Granted, that dedication seemed to be in making sure his hut was _slightly_ higher than Astrid's, and appeared to involve a crude carving of what was probably himself holding up the front half, but the point was he was dedicated.

_"What are you looking at?"_ Snotlout growled loudly as he descended into a landing next to him, Hookfang landing next to the tall log he'd just dropped.

"Just thinking you do good here," Dreamer replied, ignoring his acerbic tone.

Which was just as well, because it was almost immediately dropped. "Oh… Uh… Thanks," he muttered abashedly.

Dreamer purred, a little confused, but happy his words had lightened Snotlout's mood. He helped to wedge some supports in place before taking off again.

* * *

The merry crackling of the fire set a pleasant background to the contented sighs and groans of everyone sating their hunger with a whole spit roasted boar. Or what was left of it after the Nightstrikers had gutted it, though nobody ever begrudged them taking the tasty inner meats. Dreamer could understand that, he hadn't been so fond of them as a Long-Paw either, but now he found them far more palatable.

_"How are we looking for progress?"_ Astrid asked as everyone finished eating. _"We're coming into autumn now, winter isn't far off."_

_"Pff, that's like, months away,"_ Snotlout scoffed. _"We'll easily be done by then."_

_"Will we?"_ Astrid shot back. _"We've still got the Furies' cave to dig out, nobody's even started flooring or roofing, which would be hard enough even if we had a bench saw, and we've still got to do something about getting around while our dragons are gone."_

Dreamer paused in his grooming of himself. That was something he'd forgotten about, that the riders would be without dragons for most of the winter. Hopefully none of them expected the Nightstrikers to ferry them around, though Astrid at least clearly did not.

_"Not to mention how much stuff we keep finding we need,"_ Fishlegs said mildly, tossing a bone into the fire with a scattering of sparks. _"Nobody considered we might build onto a cliff like this, we're probably going to need another hundred yards of rope at least, even if we're really careful with it. I don't even know where we could get that much."_

Astrid shook her head. _"We'll probably just have to do without the zip lines for now."_

Both twins loudly and vehemently expressed their dislike of that idea while Dreamer stretched and padded away. Resources were indeed going to be a problem, and he couldn't work out any way of producing uniform planks, even just taking a handsaw to them, as they had to use green wood that would warp as it dried. Maybe that wasn't much of a problem if they were well fitted and thick enough, but even still, sawing lengthways down a tree by hand was not an easy process even forgoing uniformity.

He flapped up to the ledge they'd been sleeping on, taking a moment to flame the rock before dropping onto it. _Mmmrrrrrr,_ how had he ever made do without his fire before? This was sheer _bliss._

Wanderer alighted moments later, quickly taking advantage of the warm patch; Dreamer was purring so heartily from the heat seeping into his muscles that he wasn't even remotely annoyed at being shoved over a bit, and the other Nightstriker was warm in his own way.

"I think you dreaming again," Wanderer purred, shuffling firmly up against Dreamer's back and draping a wing over him. Dreamer only strung a questioning lilt into his purring, feeling as if he was already about to drop off to sleep. "I think you not need help Long-Paws with that. Let them do Long-Paw things."

"But I can help," Dreamer replied lethargically. "I maybe think something."

"I know you will think something. But how they learn thinking if you think for them?"

Dreamer hummed noncommittally at that. In any case, now was not a time for thinking.

* * *

As it turned out, a convenient solution to the resources problem presented itself before long.

Dreamer, as he and Wanderer eagerly explored the surrounding sea – mostly looking for sweet-grass to transplant – barked in happy recognition of the trade vessel cutting through the choppy water. "Get Astrid," he told his friend, who chuffed agreeably before swiftly banking away and shrinking into the distance.

There was little chance they would lose the ship with how slowly it was travelling, but only one of them was needed to fetch someone who could actually talk to the merchant, at least without needing ink and paper. He wheeled above, well aware of Johann's attitude towards Night Furies and not wanting to spook him-

Actually, which would be more intimidating? Landing with a pleasant greeting, or wheeling above like a hunter stalking its prey?

He glided down and gently alighted on the prow – his tail and flared wings did wonders to keep himself steady with the boat rocking and pitching in the waves – then rolled his eyes at the terrified squeak from the aft of the ship.

_"Well you can reach out now, so get rid of it!"_ Johann hissed from where he hid behind some crates.

Dreamer looked curiously to the deckhand, lifting his frills and an ear in curiosity.

_"No' bein' funny, it'd be cheaper to jus' give it wha' it wants than pay me ter figh' it off,"_ the man said warily, then jumped when Dreamer nodded appreciatively at him. It was nice for someone to look at him and think 'I don't want to fight you' for a change.

In return, he did his best to appear as non-threatening as possible, looking around with wide curious eyes and settling down on the rail. He would quite like to go through the wares, but they were all boxed, safe from the elements at sea.

It wasn't long until Astrid descended on Stormfly anyway, gently landing in a clear area by Dreamer and dismounting. Wanderer was apparently content to continue circling far above them.

_"Mistress Astrid, I implore you, make him leave before he breaks something!"_ Johann pleaded, peering over the crate.

_"Who, Hiccup? Naw, he won't be a problem. Will you, you big softie?"_ She reached up and scratched firmly over his head, which he couldn't help but lean into with a happy groan. _"Actually, I have a favour to ask."_ Dreamer's head dropped a claw-length as she abruptly let it go to turn and walk over to Johann. "_We happen to be setting up in the area, and, well, we're in need of tools and supplies. I don't suppose you could swing by? It's not even a half day's sailing from here."_

_"Supplies?"_ Johann's demeanour quickly changed, going from piteously frightened to calm and calculating, with a brief glance at Dreamer. _"Keep us on course,"_ he said sternly to the deckhand, who shrugged and adjusted the rigging before heading to the steering wheel._ "What kind of supplies?"_

_"Well, we're only finding stuff as we go along. Right now we need a bench saw, nails, ropes, and any other construction tools would be great."_

_"Building something? I see. But how are you going to pay?"_ He stared intently at Astrid, stroking his wide beard.

Astrid briefly lost her balance as the boat pitched. _"Er…"_ Dreamer groaned; surely, she knew how trade worked… The concept of freely sharing everything around the village was done with the assumption that _everyone_ was sharing, though it was easy to fall into that trap of thinking when one was a kid and thus was only ever on the receiving end.

Still, she recovered quickly. _"We have Hookfang and Stormfly, we could trade you Nightmare gel and Nadder spines?"_

Johann hummed thoughtfully. _"Nadder spines I have aplenty, Nightmare gel I can get elsewhere. I realise you are new to this, so will save you some time and tell you how it works. I need to not only reimburse my costs for the supplies I trade you, but also my time and running costs for sailing to you. If it's nearly a half day from here, it could easily add a day to my journey, which is time my other clients will have to wait to get their own wares."_

Dreamer wanted to snort, but held his peace. It wasn't as if Johann would sail to this spot, then to the base, then back here before continuing along.

Unfortunately, it seemed Astrid was not versed in the ways of traders, and was about to learn things the hard way. _"Well, what _do_ you want then?"_

_"Hmm…"_ Johann made a show of looking around, and Dreamer rolled his eyes. The merchant obviously already knew exactly what-

_"Night Fury hide,"_ he said suddenly, and Dreamer briefly lost his own balance and nearly fell off the rail. _"It's the only thing you have of any real value, aside from the dragons themselves."_ The last bit was said wryly, his tone suggesting he wasn't interested in actually trading in them.

_"Ah, I…"_ She turned back to Dreamer, the question on her face.

He very nearly just agreed with her, but Wanderer's advice suddenly came to mind, and he hesitated. "I think…" He struggled with the words, _confound this limited language,_ Dragonese simply wasn't built for concepts such as ownership or barter. "You help us, we help you. We talk later." There, not entirely fair because she was already backed into a corner, but it would be a good lesson; Wanderer was right in one sense, she needed to learn these things.

She smiled gratefully and went back to Johann. _"We can do that. But we need the supplies before winter, while the Night Furies won't shed until spring. Is that a problem?"_

Johann looked downcast. _"I am afraid you do not have the reputation to take such a loan, my dear. Unless you can somehow procure some for the trade, perhaps from Berk if needed, I cannot supply you with the goods."_

A few moments of frantic thinking. _"How about… a substance that completely prevents rust for at least a year, and keeps locks and similar things moving smoothly?"_

Hey, wait a minute…

_"Hmmm…"_ Johann went back to stroking his beard. _"That would indeed be useful,"_ he said slowly,_ "especially if it works in this sea air. If you can provide, that is. But…"_

Wow, Johann was desperate to make a mistake like that. Even Astrid picked up on it. _"…You really want the Fury hide, don't you,"_ she mused with a wolfish grin. _"Well like I said, they're still using it. You can take this now and have that later, or I guess we'll just have to pack up and go home, or find someone else to trade with."_

_"You drive a hard bargain,"_ Johann agreed quickly, _"but I can agree to those terms."_

Dreamer listened while they hammered out the details, a rough estimate of value and verbal contract of trade. Astrid was actually doing pretty well for thinking on her paws – err, feet – and hammered the price down to a single strip of hide to guarantee his arrival, and three more for the agreed supplies.

Which was good, Dreamer had been a little worried she'd sell his entire hide, and maybe Wanderer's too, for a few tools and some rope. Unfortunately, he had a pretty good idea of what it was worth; more than _that_. But she at least seemed to understand value, and to not just give something away because it wasn't needed.

Or, by how smug she looked as she remounted Stormfly, even carrying a couple of jars to fill and return, maybe she'd just wanted to one-up the trader after he'd cut her down at the start. She was the type to get petty over someone striking at her confidence.

Just like Snotlout, really. If he could just grow up a bit, they'd be a good match for each other. _Hrrr,_ she needed to grow up a little too, in some ways.

Dreamer thought on how he could provide his lesson to the future Chief; it was simple sense, really, not to put yourself into someone's debt without a solid plan of repayment. Ideally, he would help her in the same way she had tried to teach him all those years ago… but more practically.

After they'd landed back at the base and she just set the jars in front of him with an appreciative thanks, he had an idea.

* * *

Dumping another bucket of freezing water over herself in the warm light of the setting sun, Astrid grit her teeth and forced down the shivers. Part of her was wondering if a certain crazy Viking who had liked inventing things could have invented some easy way for a dragon to heat water for bathing, and was tempted to work out herself what should by all rights be a very simple system, but she squashed it with pure Viking logic that it would be _comfortable_ and thus tempt her to weakness.

So she bore the cold with pride, swiftly scooping up another bucket of water and upending it on her own head.

Her bathing done, she roughly shook herself off, towelled herself dry, and redressed. She had plenty of time to get back to the base before dark truly fell, though she scowled at the growing need to change her routine with the gradual shortening of the days.

Next time. She couldn't afford to be caught out after dark like this by wolves or something, though nobody had seen signs of any yet. Boars might give her trouble if it was dark enough. She'd… just have to bring Stormfly or something, though she would miss the light jog back; it was an effective and practical way to warm herself up again, and using her dragon to warm up felt like cheating.

It was with thoughts of being caught out on her own in the forest that two such predators prowled out in front of her, momentarily stopping her heart and then rapidly quickening it. But it was just the Furies, their dark bodies playing tricks on her in the failing light.

"Whew, you guys need to wear some bells or something," she said through heavy breaths, trying to hide her momentary panic under her exertion. Hiccup snorted at her, while Toothy looked thoughtful but confused. "What's up?"

_"We give you our saliva,"_ Hiccup said with a croon, carefully sitting on his haunches and wrapping his tail around his legs.

"Yeah, once we get this saw going everything's going to go a lot quicker." Johann had been delighted in the stuff, testing it on his own cabin door which could now open and close without a terrible squeak. They hadn't told him what it was. "Ah, you said we'd help each other. Alright, what'cha need?"

_"I not know,"_ he said thoughtfully, then looked to his brother, who shrugged his wings. _"What you can give us?"_

She stared at him. She'd never thought about what a dragon would actually _want,_ and now that she did, she wasn't coming up with much. "Dried Fish? Belly rubs…?" She wasn't _trying_ to sound demeaning, but they really never seemed to want anything else. Other than their cave, but that was only so that they didn't need to go find their own, which they would be perfectly happy doing; the riders just wouldn't be able to follow, build proper shelter, and stockpile in time for winter.

Toothy snorted. _"Fishlegs already give fish for us do things. Also you already give scratches."_

"Well I could stop giving scratches if you want," she teased.

_"Could you?"_ Hiccup asked slyly.

…Being totally honest with herself, "No…" Well, she was out of ideas. Intelligent though they were, they were like wild animals in most ways. The only things they needed or even wanted were food, water, and-

She clamped down on her thoughts, appalled by where they had nearly gone for a moment. "You must have something in mind, to be here now," she hedged, trying not to think about what she could give a dragon, and then trying not to think about not thinking about it because it was making her _think_ about it.

Hiccup's face flattened into a somewhat smug smile. _"I always wonder what Long-Paw taste like,"_ he said with a purr, both Furies' mouths parting into truly _evil_ grins as they slowly walked forward.

Several long moments passed while she stared blankly at them.

The bucket fell to the ground. "What?" she said as weakly as she suddenly felt, barely managing a small step back. She must have misheard, seen a word wrong…! But those _wicked_ teeth were telling her otherwise, and the bright green eyes, seemingly glowing in the evening shade of the forest, were outright predatory in the way they focused on her. "But you… don't eat…"

_"No, we not,"_ Toothy said menacingly as he advanced. _"But we want try it… fresh."_

They lunged, and she barely even got her hand to her axe, let alone raise it to her defence, before she was pinned to the ground. Instantly there was a pressure on her ribs, and a deep breath reflexively built itself in her chest-

The pressure wetly ran up her front and over her face, and her arms were released to vainly try to fend off the brutal licking assault as she spluttered and yelled grievous insults that were only cut off by more licking and spluttering. Her training kicked in and she nearly managed to roll away, but that assumed she was being assaulted by claws or spines, not wide and heavy tongues, and didn't work as well as she'd hoped.

Finally, she managed to kick herself away. "You rat munchers!" she yelled, throwing rocks, sticks, and the bucket after them as they ran off into the trees, laughing as they went. _Ugh,_ her top half was _drenched_ in slimy drool, and right after she'd bathed! She couldn't even contemplate trying to sleep like this, she _reeked_ of raw fish – at that, she could _taste_ fish too, and gagged and spluttered before pursing her lips tight.

Back to the lake she stomped, simply wading into the frigid water; there was little point undressing again, as it all needed washing anyway. But try as she might, she couldn't get the slimy stuff out of the fabric, and even her skin still felt gross by the time she gave up and stormed out of the water, too cold to suppress the shivers. At least they'd had the decency to send Stormfly, either that or her dragon had simply gone looking for her.

Though the Nadder scented her as she neared, and chuckled.

_"Don't_ even think about it!" Astrid snapped at her, holding a finger to the Nadder's face. Stormfly just stared innocently back at her, half her tongue still hanging out, and then offered her neck. There was no saddle, but they wouldn't need it for this short flight, and the warm scales were more appreciated anyway.

On the way back, she did have to grudgingly admit that the Furies had got her good.

* * *

Ruffnut dropped down next to Astrid and grabbed the spare axe, a little lump of metal on a stick that was good for cleaning branches of their shoots and not much else. That was fine, as that was what they were doing.

They sat in silence for a little while, working through a pile of leafy wood to make a stack of nice straight branches. She appreciated they could do this, as they hadn't had much girl time lately with being so busy with their own things, it was nice to just have pleasant company for a change.

Besides, Astrid looked like she was ready to wring someone's neck, some company would be good for her.

Actually, while Astrid's smooth skin and features were the envy of most girls on Berk, she looked even more radiant today, completely in spite of her dour mood. "Wow," Ruffnut commented conversationally as she hacked the twigs off the branch, "you change your soap or something?"

"Don't even ask…" Astrid groaned.

"Come ooon, don't hog your secrets! You've already got all the boys pining over you, you don't need any _more_ advantages!"

Astrid froze mid-swing. "No," she said suddenly. "No," she said again, waving her axe in Ruffnut's face. "No, no, no, no!" she continued denying, throwing down the axe and stomping to her feet.

Ruffnut watched her in total confusion as she stormed off. "But-"

"No!"

* * *

It was quite impressive, watching a Long-Paw den come together. It had taken well over a sky-ice-cycle to assemble the tough skeletons and then shape more trees into the required pieces to go around them, but it took less than a sky-fire-cycle for it to be put together.

Wanderer watched with mild interest as thick trees with flat sides were laid down on top of each other against the outside of the skeleton, eventually meeting in a point at the top to make up the sides of the den. As each tree went in, more flat trees at the front and back hooked into them and held them down, though he didn't know what in turn held those down.

This was Astrid's den going up this sky-fire-cycle, the last to be completed. She looked giddy beyond belief about it, an amusing mix of utter exhaustion and bouncing anticipation. From what Wanderer understood, they all intended to continue adding to their dens in some way or another, but he could appreciate the anticipation of finally having somewhere nice to sleep.

After all, the Nightstrikers' own den was also nearing completion. They'd nearly spent a night in it on a few occasions, but it smelled badly of Long-Paw and Rock-Scale, scents that would only be renewed whatever they did. Scents that were in the process of being eradicated by cleansing Spine-Tail fire, a pleasant side-effect of Storm-Fly using her fire to smooth the jagged floor.

A process that was slow because of how big the Nightstrikers' den had been built, taking time with both Storm-Fly's limited fire and that the den quickly became too hot for even the Rock-Scale's comfort. The air was just too stifling, too dry, not at all pleasant to be in until the rock was allowed to cool completely. But it would be worth it.

He tired of watching the Long-Paws build the den, stretching his wings and catching the wind as he dropped from the top of the cliff. Far out over the sea, a black shape hurtled from the sky to strike the waves with a blue light before fleeing from the short-lived white cloud that erupted from the water.

Dreamer shouted happily as he winged over, then rolled back into another screeching dive to continue practising his fire. It was a little trickier to fire at speed, harder to control, but the shot would travel faster and drill deeper into water before exploding, or do more damage to a more solid target.

And he was picking it up _quickly._ Wanderer was actually a little intimidated, it had taken him twice as long to reach this point. Granted, he had been more focused on surviving at the time, and had been left to work out all but the basics from memory only, but that wasn't the point.

At least those memories were not so painful now. His family was gone, possibly forever, but he would always remember them warmly in his heart, and pass their lessons onto his own offspring.

His gaze went from Dreamer to the horizon, which invited him to wander, beckoning enticingly. Since falling to the trap of the warm-nest and its greedy queen, he had never ventured this far from it, the small-lands here were all entirely new to him. That unfamiliarity was tugging at him, begging him to explore and scent new things and find fun things to do…

A fish startled him by inexplicably flying up to meet him, though he was not slow in snapping it from the air and gulping it down. Dreamer then drifted up next to him, watching him curiously with his ears and frills out, then glanced out to the horizon himself.

Wanderer barked happily and gestured to the sky, to the boundless water in all directions. He wanted to know what was out there, and he knew Dreamer did too, but their exploring so far had been limited to within sight of their new nest.

"But… we maybe find Death-Song," Dreamer crooned warily. "We should wait for Long-Paws…"

"We kill that danger," Wanderer grumbled. "Maybe we find another, but we know now if have bad thoughts." Mostly he was annoyed at himself for falling for it _again,_ he'd even recognised the thoughts as strange but hadn't considered the possibility that there was _another_ thing that could put thoughts in his head. "If think strange thoughts, we come back here."

Dreamer gave him a wary warble, but then angled out to the unknown and beat his wings for speed. True travelling speed, not the silly slow pace they had been forced to in flying out here, and soon they were roaring their delight in skimming the clouds. They did find some small-lands, but Dreamer was still too cautious to land, which was fine. For now, simply knowing they were there was enough to satisfy that itch, and it was a good way to ensure they didn't fall to more thought-snares.

While the sky-fire flew high, Dreamer suddenly levelled out with a _wary, determined_ warble and stared intently at something down below, which Wanderer quickly located. A ship, something that was now familiar and unremarkable. But if Dreamer was wary of it, there was likely good reason.

They drifted down towards it, low enough to get a good look, but there was nothing about this ship to tell them of its intentions. They were out here to find vile Long-Paws, ones hunting not for food but for despicable, rotten reasons such as for those the Nightstrikers had been hunted for as fledglings. Were these such hunters? Or were they simply regular Long-Paws travelling in their excruciatingly slow way?

"Watch them," Dreamer growled. "I see."

Wanderer chuffed a wary acknowledgement, staring intently at the Long-Paws on the ship. They appeared harmless enough, though they began scurrying around as Dreamer dropped lower and slowed to glide languidly alongside them.

It wasn't long before he flapped back up alongside Wanderer, a snarl on his face. "They hunters. Talk about catching us."

"I kill them," Wanderer growled, "you use your fire already."

"Wait," Dreamer huffed. "Not kill them."

Wanderer looked over to him. "Dreamer, these hunters want starve us, maybe kill us. They starve, kill other wing-hunters."

"I know," Dreamer crooned. "But if we kill them, they will think we dangerous. Not stop Long-Paws hunting us. Maybe make more Long-Paws hunt us. Bad." He then purred maliciously. "You can shoot tree on floating-thing?"

He gave Dreamer a distinctly unimpressed look as he folded his wings into a dive.

Out of habit, he flexed his sub-wings into shape to produce his sound-sight, watching Dreamer behind him and the ship in front of him. There was nothing else around, but it was a good habit to be in, and would also help teach these Long-Paws that Nightstrikers were not for capturing.

Nightstrikers were for fleeing from.

A bolt of fire left his maw and quickly crossed the distance to the ship. It struck the tree jutting from the ship squarely in the base as he pulled up, the resulting explosion tearing it apart and carrying on to open the belly of the ship too, revealing the dark interior.

But the ship was intact, and as he screeched past, well out of range of their thrown claws that they hadn't even bothered using, he couldn't see any Long-Paws that had been injured or killed. He looked back in time to see the tree-thing, with its strange sideways wing, crash into the top of the ship, totally ruined.

He laboured up to fly alongside Dreamer again, and huffed derisively at him. Dreamer just chuffed somewhat apologetically as they stared down at the Long-Paws scurrying over their damaged ship, which had slowed to a stop. After a time, the scurrying stopped and spindly legs emerged from the sides of the ship, which turned it around and began dragging it towards the small-land in the distance.

Its progress was laughably slow, even slower than with its silly sideways wing. But it was moving, and would get there… eventually.

"This very good," Dreamer hummed smugly as they continued on their wandering of the skies, leaving the ship to flounder. "Not kill those hunters, but they… need do many things now before can hunt again. We can just keep doing that, maybe they leave."

"Like swatting fledgling?" Wanderer warbled curiously. "Learn not do things when get swatted."

"Some," he replied. "But Long-Paws need things for live, hunt. We break their things, they not can hunt. We break many things, they get less from hunt than we break."

"Like small fast prey? Not want hunt if fill belly less than use in hunt." Like the small ground-prey they hunted in the Long-Paw dens in the cold-season, more for something to do than filling their bellies.

"Hrr, yes, that good thinking. We make their prey smaller, harder for catch."

And with that, Wanderer could understand the earlier thinking too. If a prey is hard to catch, don't hunt it. If a hunter attacks you either way, better to fight and kill it so it does not interfere with other hunts. It was good thinking. Even if he suspected a little that Dreamer was only justifying his dislike of killing.

* * *

A tired but hearty cheer went up as the last board was hammered into place, completing the communal hut. At this point it was nothing but a rough stone pedestal acting as a small table around a fire in an otherwise empty room, but it was _done,_ as were all the planned gangways and ziplines.

How long had it taken…? Two months? Three? Astrid had lost track of time, and no longer cared. They were somewhere in autumn now, and that was the main thing, that they'd completed the necessary bits. Even if they weren't expecting the harsh storms suffered on Berk, the chill promised a bitingly cold winter nonetheless, and they wouldn't have their dragons.

She slid from the roof and dropped to the ground, then staggered inside and collapsed against a wall. The black dragons were also inside, rolling over each other and growling playfully. Fishlegs carefully edged around them, trying to check the wall for structural stability and muttering to himself. Snotlout and the twins walked in shortly after, laughing and jeering but also out of breath and ready to just relax for a bit.

"Finally!" Ruffnut groaned and just dropped to lay on her back.

"Whoo!" Tuffnut exclaimed tiredly, collapsing forward to land on his face next to her. Snotlout rolled his eyes and went to lean on the table in the middle of the room.

Ruffnut sat up to look around the somewhat dark room. "I swear, we've been building so long, I've forgotten how to do anything else. What are we gonna do tomorrow?"

"How about," Tuffnut moaned groggily into the floor, _"not_ building?"

"I second that!" his sister agreed.

Snotlout huffed. "Suit yourself," he said with a glare at Astrid, "I'm going to mount a catapult on _my_ hut."

"I estimate you would achieve precisely one shot before it tears your house down," Fishlegs reported from where he was shuffling around the wall. Apparently satisfied, he nodded to himself and walked over to sit down with the rest of them, forming a sort of circle.

"I could make it work!"

"Tall wooden structures are not built to withstand the forces of throwing a boulder hundreds of feet into the air. It creates an opposing force in the other direction, which would be absorbed by-"

"Okay, fine, I don't need the details, sheesh…"

Astrid just rolled her eyes at him. The only reason he wanted a catapult was because she'd built a ballista on her house that had proven itself capable of firing heavy bolts well out to sea. He wasn't jealous of its strength, just the fact that it rose several palms higher than the roof of his own house.

"We came out here with a job to do," Astrid reminded them all. "The hunters are out there, the Furies say they've taken out a few of their boats already." The mentioned dragons perked, then jumped to their paws and trotted over.

_"They not strong,"_ Hiccup hummed, _"we break many tree-things. But more come."_ He looked thoughtful, then glanced around the room. _"I want thing here, for make marks. Show other small-lands, where we see hunters."_

"A map?" Fishlegs suggested. "Sure, we can think of something you can draw on."

Astrid huffed in amusement. Hiccup reminded her of his namesake… or perhaps his namesake had just been like him, like a dragon. Full of drive, passion, a desire to explore, to help, and just to _do._ He would have loved this. He also probably would have built an unstable dragon powered machine to do something or other and ended up setting them all back weeks of work.

But he was somewhere better now. "A map would be great," Astrid agreed, "it'll help us keep track of the hunters, and you can fill it in as you explore. We'll take over your patrols of the area, you scope out targets, and we'll drive these hunters away."

Really, this all seemed far too easy, the biggest worry she had was that these hunters would give up too quickly and they'd have built this base for nothing. But then in that case they'd just camp out for a year or so, then go back and tell everyone it had been really difficult.

"What are we gonna call it?" Tuffnut asked plainly as he sat up.

"…The map?" Fishlegs asked, confused.

"The base," Tuffnut drawled. "We need a good name for it, like 'The Frontier', something that we can sound proud of when explaining to our grandkids."

"Ehh, that's a little on the nose," Fishlegs said. "And you want something that people aren't going to have trouble spelling."

"Maybe that's the point," Ruffnut offered slyly. "If they can't spell it, our enemies won't be able to track us!"

"Something about dragons," Astrid offered in an attempt to bypass the inevitable argument they were headed into. "We ride dragons, and we're fighting dragon hunters. But this isn't the frontier of dragons, so something else."

"The Stronghold?" Snotlout suggested, though he largely went ignored.

They all sat in thoughtful silence for a while.

_"Why need name?"_ Toothy asked, looking bored. _"This our nest."_

Astrid clicked her fingers. "Dragon's Nest!" she exclaimed, then waited for everyone to think about it a moment. "You know, because once we start prodding the hornet's nest, the hunters are going to be hunting for us."

"Because they'll go on hunts for the Nest," Tuffnut mused, nodding his head with a grin.

"I like it," Fishlegs agreed. "It helps that the dragons outnumber the riders, so technically it _is_ closer to a nest than a village."

Hiccup crooned thoughtfully. _"We only can say 'Nest', but it good name."_ He nudged Toothy. _"We need new word."_ Toothy snorted a puff of smoke in his face in reply.

Ruffnut nodded too. "The inside of our hut _looks_ like a nest too, so that works."

Astrid rubbed her head, she didn't even want to _know_ where the twins had got half their stuff from. All apparently useless junk, but where did one get a stuffed yak all the way out here? And so quickly?

"Dragon's Nest it is," she announced, ignoring Snotlout glaring at her. It was a majority vote, after all.

That was apparently the signal for everyone to go get some rest, as they all filed for the door; they'd all been working hard for a long time, and had been looking forward to just relaxing for a bit. Astrid herself wanted to take a dip in the lake, as cold as it was she was enjoying the freedom to bathe however often and for as long as she wanted. Summer was going to be _bliss…_

"I see what you're doing," Snotlout said tersely, who she just noticed had not moved from his position at the table.

"Excuse me?" she responded acidly.

"Showing me up, taking control, well I ain't buying what you're selling."

"I didn't have to ask you to join us, and you didn't have to come." She stood and folded her arms, projecting her authority.

"Just like that," he sneered, jabbing a finger in her direction. "And you're talking like I had a _choice._ Well news flash, you're not the boss of us, and you're _definitely_ not the boss of me."

"I'm not _trying_ to be the boss. In case you've forgotten we're following the _Furies_ out here, if anyone is the boss it's them."

"Well you could'a fooled me," he loudly shot back, throwing his arms out, then stormed for the door. "Maybe you should remember that yourself," he gritted as he disappeared.

She had no response for that. How _should_ one respond to complete and utter childishness? She didn't need to get the last word in, she was better than that. It stung a bit though. A cold bath was definitely sounding like a good idea.

* * *

**(( J5X0hGtIEp4 ))**  
"Undefeated"


	40. Learning Curve

A chill night heralded the coming of winter, the clear sky host to uncountable sky-sparks and a sliver of sky-ice shining down on the boundless sea. Dreamer's wings caressed the air as they flew low and quiet, speeding over the water with the only sound being the occasional leathery flaps of broad Nightstriker wings to keep them at speed.

There was a new ship in the area, a larger one, with a similarly wide hull for transport but without the hunter's crest on the sail, sporting instead what looked like a stick man with horns but no legs.

The crest was much simpler than Dreamer was used to seeing, and something was bugging him about it. They _were_ in foreign waters, and the similarity of shipbuilding could be because they were purchased or otherwise shared a common source, but he suspected the hunters might be trying to throw them off.

Which was amusing, actually. All they had seen so far was a pair of Night Furies crippling countless ships, did they expect dragons to be that smart? That was quite a logical leap for most humans to make on their own.

After carefully circling the ship from afar, where their silhouettes would be dismissed as tricks of the eyes, they descended to the dark sea and swiftly approached the boat from the side. Dreamer was extremely nervous at attempting this again after it had gone so badly last time, but Wanderer was confident, they weren't planning on killing anyone this time, and they had their fire. They just needed some evidence of whether or not these people were hunters. Hopefully they wouldn't need to descend into the hold to find out.

One of the differences was that unlike the regular hunter ships, which had a cabin on the deck, this one had a cabin on a second level of deck and not one but _three_ sails. It was all much larger than anything Dreamer had ever seen before, and very impressive.

It also made a lot of corners and shadows to hide in.

They slipped over the rail and onto the deck, lurking in the darkness against the wall of the cabin. The ship appeared to be controlled by a wheel above them, which was currently manned, and there was a second person they had seen occasionally making rounds, adjusting sails and poking around. The two were unremarkable burly men with weapons at their waists, and were loudly talking about a variety of mundane topics.

There was nothing to be learned from their conversation – plenty about several women that Dreamer wished he could claw from his mind – and the deck of the ship was clean and bare; a thousand faint scents had been tracked onto it, none standing out more than any other. Why would such a vessel need such a big hold if they weren't going to make use of the deck? Unless it was intended to sail through storms or something…

Wanderer peeked around the door into the cabin, then gestured to look inside. Dreamer crept around him and poked his head around the door frame, quickly taking in over a dozen sleeping forms.

If the crew was up here, and maybe even more crew in the cabin upstairs, then what were they keeping in the hold? They had to find out.

Unfortunately, the deck was exquisitely built with nary a crack to scent, so they had to find a way in. The hatch, a body-length from the cabin and in full sight of the man steering the boat, was not a good idea. Maybe there was a back window or something…

But then, totally by chance, a scent caught his nose for just an instant, a heavy musk… The hatch, he realised, wasn't totally sealed. The scents of the men in the cabin were thankfully being swept away by the wind as the ship travelled, but occasionally he got whiffs that were making it hard to confirm what it was he'd just caught.

If he could just get closer… He crept forward, likely into the line of sight of the man at the wheel but trusting his dark scales to hide him as long as he didn't move too quickly.

There was only the slightest crack, but the scent was pungent, that of Spine-Tail. He couldn't tell how many there were, but the rank smell accompanying it suggested they'd been there a few days.

A scuff got Dreamer's attention, and he whipped his head around to see the deckhand descending the stairs. The man hadn't noticed him… until a pair of bright green eyes appeared out of the darkness to glare at him. They both froze, staring at each other.

_"D… D… D…"_

A tense huff from Wanderer got him moving, bounding over the deck and leaping off the rail to catch the wind. Shouts of alarm drifted up to them, and the deck of the boat began to glow as lanterns were lit.

"They hunters?" Wanderer asked him as they climbed.

"Yes," Dreamer said with a growl. "Spine-Tails inside."

Wanderer scowled. "We shoot trees again? This big floating-thing…" It took roughly half their fire to destroy a mast, so one of them would be completely out of fire if they wanted to destroy all three.

"No, I want do," Dreamer purred maliciously, then folded his wings. He watched in amusement as the lights below him paused, then began scurrying around, some into cover or into the cabin, and others to the railing as if perhaps hoping to get a glimpse of him. He could see bows and axes being readied, but they wouldn't do them any good.

He wrangled his fire into shape – it felt like it was trying to move around on its own while diving, making it much more difficult – and released it to smite the ship almost directly from above. The shot instantly disintegrated the steering wheel and a good few paces of the cabin beneath it.

"What you do?" Wanderer asked curiously as he swooped back up to height. "I know target wings, but how that stop it?"

Dreamer was only half paying attention, more interested in the people inspecting the damage. "Hrrr, it move thing like tail-fin. Not can-" He cut himself off, suddenly realising what he was saying and to whom.

But his friend just huffed in satisfaction. "Yes, not can fly with no tail-fin. Good."

At any rate, the ship was going nowhere for now. The crew would probably be able to rig something up, but that was fine, and intentional. It meant they'd be able to limp home after they returned in the morning with the rest of the riders to free the dragons.

* * *

"Alright guys, up and at 'em!" Astrid shouted, banging on the twins' door. A pair of sleepy, unenthusiastic groans came from inside. "Ah well, guess we'll just go blow up these hunters without you." _That_ got them moving.

Astrid grabbed the zipline and whizzed down a few levels, then climbed the short ladder up to Fishlegs' hut and banged on his door. A sleepy and incomprehensible shout came in reply, and the door quickly opened.

"Astrid, wha-? It's not even daylight yet." He yawned widely, swaying a little on his feet.

"Yeah, we got a hunter ship to raid, and we want to hit them at dawn. Come in with the sun behind us."

He smacked his lips a few times as he stared at her. Then comprehension sunk in, and his eyes widened. "You mean, like, actual fighting? With swords and blood and danger and stuff?"

"Yes, Fishlegs," Astrid said with a roll of her eyes, "don't tell me you forgot why we're out here."

He scratched his cheek, looking off to the side. "Well, to be fair, you did kind of rope us all into it without much choice."

"You could have stayed on Berk if you wanted, but come on, would you _really_ have passed this up?"

"Ehh… Probably not. Well, time to see what we got, I guess…"

"That's the spirit!" Astrid left him to get dressed, scowling up at the fourth hut. She wouldn't hesitate here, but she didn't have to _like_ this part.

The climb up to Snotlout's hut was actually quite invigorating, enough to get the blood running. But did he really have to build on such a tall rock column? They'd needed a _lot_ of nails for this ladder.

She reached the top and stretched, working her stiff muscles from their slumber, and-

The door opened before she had a chance to knock. "I'm _up,"_ he said shortly.

Astrid gave him a flat look and crossed her arms. "Good, we're going to go free some dragons from a hunter ship."

"Sounds like fun."

She turned to look sideways at him before climbing and leaping her way back down, then made her way back up to her own hut.

"Hey girl," she said warmly as she entered, gently waking Stormfly with a stroke over her head. The Nadder huffed at her, then stretched and got to her feet. "Ready to knock some heads together?"

They were all quickly in the air, eating a small breakfast on the flight as they followed the Furies out to sea. She could just about make them out against the glow of the impending dawn, but Stormfly had no trouble keeping up.

"Remember," she called out as a sliver of sun blinded her to the horizon, "we're not aiming to kill anyone. Just make sure they stay down, knock them off the boat if you can, but try not to kill them." It was a bit strange, having a dragon argue for a non-lethal approach, but she didn't need much convincing. Filling their infirmaries and breaking their morale was a brutally effective tactic, if they could pull it off, not to mention depriving them of an honourable death. Highly disrespectful, but she couldn't blame the dragon for that, these people deserved no respect.

Snotlout was staring forward, giving no indication he had heard. Was that determination on his face, or anger and frustration? Astrid couldn't tell. Fishlegs looked nervous, which was understandable, but he knew his way around a fight. His freakish strength always took her by surprise, and she _knew_ about it. The twins were conversing but went quiet when she looked their way; not in the way that said they were up to something, they just didn't want her to think they were talking for whatever reason.

Still, this was their first real fight, it would be prudent to go in with some strategy. "Ruff, Tuff, I want you breaking up clusters of hunters. Make your shots count." Zippleback gas wasn't usually lethal, but it apparently hit like a war hammer and usually left some light burns. "Fishlegs, you're in charge of getting the dragons out, break through the hold and shout if you need help. Snotlout, we're covering him."

She didn't really know how to factor in the Night Furies. They would be out of their element here, in the daylight, but they were still incredibly fast and strong dragons, to say nothing of… actually, their fire might be _too_ powerful, and she had no desire to know what it could do to a man. She very suddenly had no qualms whatsoever about the non-lethal approach. "Toothy, Hiccup, you guys help how you can." One of them barked a confirmation; they knew more what they could do than she did.

There wasn't any real indication they were turning, but the rising sun was creeping around their side, and then the Furies led them down to fly just above the waves; smart, she realised, as they would be less visible against the choppy water. Shortly after, they made a more noticeable turn and put the sun behind them, though Astrid still couldn't see their target.

Finally, it resolved into shape from the water, a large vessel with three tall masts and a tall back, bigger than anything she'd seen before. The Furies had said maybe fifteen to twenty crew, in their odd way of counting with their claws, which seemed easy enough for six dragons and five warriors. If each dragon took out two hunters, each rider would only need to fight one each.

As much as she wanted to take out more than one, as hard as she'd trained, she had to be realistic. She had no experience in a real fight, which she was told was _very_ different; anything could happen in a real fight.

They successfully approached the ship without alerting them until the last moment, close enough that the shouts of surprise and alarm were clearly audible. One of the Furies then opened fire on what looked like the cabin at the back of the ship, the shot striking the corner and smashing apart the front wall to leave it and the door nothing but a tangle of splintered wood.

Stormfly landed on the rail, and Astrid leaped down with her axe at the ready. "Surrender, and nobody gets hurt!" she shouted into the chaos. The rest of the dragons swiftly surrounded the hunters, growling at anyone who moved.

"Stand yer ground," a grizzled man said firmly, not shouting but with a voice that carried well over the deck, a big muscly man with a shaven head and long beard. He hefted his hammer and waved it. "Night Furies'll fetch a handsome price."

"But they's ridin' dragons!" one of the men shouted back uncertainly.

"And yer a dragon hunter!" the one who was presumably the captain snapped back, deftly grabbing a light bola from his belt and throwing it almost casually to wind tightly around Hookfang's mouth and head, spurring both sides into motion.

Astrid cut another bola from the air, and Stormfly leapt away from another to barge into the nearest hunter and fling him overboard. There were sounds of engagement from all around, the snarling Furies leaping at the captain, but Astrid was suddenly preoccupied with a big man advancing on her.

"Oy, yer jus' a kid," he said patronisingly, advancing without a weapon in hand. "Now wha's a swee' li'l thing like you doin' out 'ere?" Even riding a dragon to their boat and declaring their intention, they _still_ weren't being taken seriously!

At least with this guy she could make him regret it. She charged forward and swung her axe, but he only reached out to grab it by the handle.

Fool.

She yanked on it as she swung, shifting the weapon so that his hand met the blade instead of the handle. That was the _first_ thing Spitelout had done when he'd started training her personally, grab her axe off her. Then he'd shown her how to punish it.

After slicing his hand open, she followed and redirected the momentum to open up his leg while he looked at her in dumb surprise, and then slammed the flat of the axe against his shoulder, knocking him aside; he was far too occupied with ensuring he didn't bleed out to get back up. The hunter who took his place looked far more grim and determined, drawing a heavy sword and advancing steadily but warily.

_Finally!_ She grinned and met him with a feint, which he stepped away from – and then she was very suddenly aware that the sword she'd just dodged was not only capable of cleaving her in half, it was _trying_ to.

Frantic heartbeats and several metallic clashes later, a pair of Nadder spines suddenly impaled his arm, causing him to drop his sword. She jabbed him under the chin with the blunt end of her axe, then took a shaky step back.

Tunnel vision. Action and reaction. Sounds heavy and dull in her ears. She struggled with herself, tightly gripping her axe, flooded with more adrenaline than she could handle and unable to think clearly, unable to see or think on anything other than what she was directly looking at. She could barely even remember the brief fight she'd just engaged in. Nobody else seemed to be coming for her, though a large portion of the deck was on fire.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to focus, trying to make sense of the utter chaos. The dragons were all over the place, one of the Furies was racing around the deck but only managing to distract the few remaining hunters, the other was Odin knew where, and a wild-faced Snotlout stood between a flaming Hookfang and an arc of fire, his axe dripping blood. As she watched, the twins rose over the side of the boat on their dragon and took out the group that was surrounding Snotlout, and then the remaining hunters shouted and jumped overboard.

Stormfly startled her, appearing out of nowhere to nuzzle her shoulder. "Hey girl," she cooed at her, dazed, her own voice hollow in her ears… then noticed the bola around her dragon's head. "Oh-!" She holstered her axe and drew her knife to cut the rope.

The Nadder shook herself and warbled happily, then stared out over the mess that was the deck of the ship.

"That… could have gone better," Astrid said slowly, shaking herself out of her vacancy. How was it that she could fight dragons without as much as blinking, but people made her… like this?

Think on that later. "Where's Fishlegs?" she asked loudly, looking around and forcing her breathing to slow.

"Here!" came a muffled reply from down below. "Can, uh, someone open these doors? I don't want to start opening cages until they have somewhere to go."

"I got it," Snotlout growled, reaching down and hefting to open up a hinged section of flaming deck.

"Hey, watch it!" Fishlegs shouted.

"You watch it!" Snotlout shot back, flipping over the other door.

"Sure, just _rain fire_ down on someone without warning, how am I-"

"Enough!" Astrid snapped. "Just do what we came here to do and let's go!" She hated these hunters, she hated this ship, and she hated herself, she didn't want to spend any longer here than she had to.

A strikingly colourful Nadder scrambled out of the hold shortly after, flinched back from Snotlout, and flapped wildly into the air, free once again. Hopefully it would learn from however these hunters had caught it, and pass that knowledge on to others.

"Why're yeh doin' this?" a gruff and unfamiliar voice grit out, one of the hunters propping himself up against the nearby mast and holding a crude and bloody wrap tightly to his upper leg.

"Because," Astrid responded calmly, still forcing her breathing to steady, "dragons are intelligent creatures and deserve to be treated with respect. _Someone's_ got to fight for them."

He laughed, though he was clearly in pain, as another Nadder escaped the hold. "Bunch o' kids playin' a dangerous game. Yeh'll be dead 'afore winter, an' yer dragons'll be sold and skinned, not necessarily in tha' order."

The Fury on the deck, which looked to be Hiccup, approached him and sat down just out of reach. _"Tell him stop hunting,"_ he said, then snorted. _"Also that small claw not help him."_

"He says to stop hunting dragons," Astrid translated, wondering where he was keeping the knife. Must be amongst the cloth he was using to keep himself from bleeding out.

"Cute," the hunter grunted disdainfully. "Coin's coin, gotta make a living somehow. Riddin' the world o' monsters is jus' a bonus."

_"Ask who his alpha."_

"Who are you working for?"

The hunter laughed again. "Couldn' tell yeh, don' even know 'is name, don' wanna…"

Hiccup huffed and walked away, apparently satisfied, and the man relaxed a little. Astrid smirked at him. "Oh, don't worry," she said sweetly, "if he wanted you dead you'd be dead. A little knife wouldn't make a blind bit of difference."

He gave her a startled look as she walked over to the doors to the hold and peered down. "How're you going down there, Fish?"

"Last one," he called back. "Nearly got it…" There was some scuffling and growling from somewhere out of sight, and the boat shuddered as the last Nadder leapt straight from the hold into the sky. "Whew, he was feisty. Toothy had to hold him down so I could get the muzzle off."

Said Fury leaped up onto the deck and looked around. _"Fly,"_ he prompted, glaring at the remaining hunters who were still alive but wisely not getting back up.

Still alive, except for one… While Fishlegs and Meatlug carefully navigated their way out of the hold, Astrid took a few steps towards the corpse to get a better look, finding a gaping wound in his chest. An axe wound.

"Stormfly," she called tersely, then vaulted into the saddle and braced herself as they took off.

It made sense now. Snotlout had killed the first hunter he'd fought, and as such they'd ganged up on him. Stupid, just _stupid._ As much as she hated to admit it, the fact that they hadn't taken her seriously had probably kept her alive in the brief fight. Snotlout had needed the backup of _three_ dragons, and perhaps even Stormfly as well, and for what? Some stupid sense of 'manliness' having earned his first kill? He could have got _her_ killed if it turned out she'd needed help herself.

At that, why wasn't he lording it over her now? He had to know he'd done wrong or he'd be gloating over his first kill. That must be it.

She continued to fume as they climbed into the sky, following the Furies. She had to calm a bit, let herself think before just tearing into him. "Report!" she called out.

Silence. "Fishlegs?"

"Oh, er, well, we managed to get into the hatch while everyone was distracted," he called back. "Meatlug might have broken it a bit to get through. Toothy took out a hunter, and I tried to find the way out until, well, you know that part."

"Ruff, Tuff?"

"That was _awesome!"_ both twins shouted in unison, throwing their arms and legs out.

"There was chaos everywhere," Tuffnut said excitedly.

"And you guys were like, all over the place," Ruffnut added.

"Yeah, made it really easy to move around."

"So we just kinda rolled with it!"

"And then they all went-"

"Kablamo!" they shouted together, then high-fived.

Astrid rolled her eyes, unsure why she had expected anything coherent. Not that they were entirely wrong in their assessment. "Snotlout?"

"Took one out, distracted the rest while Fishlegs got into the hold," he said shortly. "Astrid?" he prompted, folding his arms and looking at her expectantly.

"Took one out, huh? By which you mean _killed_ him."

Hiccup's ears went up and he bobbed in the air in front of her, then tilted his head a little so he could look back at them.

"Probably," Snotlout said casually. "I had a shot, I took it. What's it matter? The rest are still alive, and there's one less hunter in the world."

_"We say not kill,"_ Hiccup said with a growl, falling back between Astrid and Snotlout to glare at the idiot.

"That's just not how it played out," Snotlout replied breezily.

"You endangered yourself _and_ the rest of us," Astrid shot at him. "We agreed not to kill."

"Ohh, I see," he yelled sarcastically, "so it's alright when _you_ kill a bunch of hunters, but when _I_ do it-"

"What!? I didn't kill any-"

"When Dagur snuck onto Berk, you didn't hesitate. But now you've got your kills, well, Odin forbid anyone _else_ get one up on you!"

When Dagur… Right, she'd forgotten about that in the aftermath, when the Furies had been _kidnapped._ "Like I care about that," she replied honestly. "And that was different!"

Hiccup roared, then glared at both of them. _"We all talk later,"_ he growled. _"That was very bad hunt, _all_ us need be better."_

"But he-"

Astrid was cut off by Hiccup snarling over the top of her. _"I not want hear it. If say more, I put you, you,"_ he gestured to both of them,_ "in den, not let out."_

"Come on Hookfang, let's get out of here." Hookfang then arched his back and thrust his wings hard, quickly pulling ahead.

"This isn't how this was supposed to go," Astrid sighed.

_"No,"_ Hiccup agreed. _"But life like that. Learn, be better. All you can do."_

…Was this _really_ the playful little dragon that had, only a few years ago, loved to climb over her until he fell exhausted into her lap and instantly started snoring? Who had fit into the crook of her arm, that first winter, from where he liked to watch her tidy up?

He still loved to have fun, of course – _both_ of them could still be cheeky little trolls when they felt like it – but when he spoke, people listened; not out of any sense of duty or position in the tribe, but just because he had spoken. As hard as Astrid had trained, and as much as Stoick had taught her, that commanding presence had always eluded her, but here it was in a dragon a fraction her age, albeit one bigger than perhaps Stoick himself.

What separated them? Even now, she was taking his words to heart, changing her thinking from hopeless failure to learning experience, and she couldn't say exactly why.

Well, one thing he had in droves was experience. That couldn't be everything, but it was somewhere to start.

* * *

"We should jus' sail a small fleet ou' there an' take 'em ou' now! Tha' type's always trouble…"

"Patience, brother," Viggo Grimborn replied neutrally, ignoring Ryker's pacing around the tent to focus on the details of the report. He would question the captain and several men personally, but this report would lead him to the right questions to ask.

Ryker stopped pacing to face him. "Well while you talk abou' patience, tha' lot are cripplin' 'alf our fleet!"

"If you can mark a map and tell me they'll be there in the time it takes to get there, you may go with my blessing." He didn't even look up for the response, far too absorbed in reading into the subtleties.

Such as the fact that only two men had died, and one of those to infection days after the attack. These were likely the two Night Furies from the little Viking village, with some of the dragon riders he'd heard about while there with Johann, so that pacifism was an enigma. He might think them from somewhere else, but the first death was specified as by axe to the chest which implied they were indeed Vikings and thus had no business leaving survivors.

That aside, the dragon riders of Berk had flown their island in some misguided sense of compassion for the dangerous beasts. They were inexperienced, that much was dreadfully obvious, but the Night Furies alone more than made up for it, according to the report.

"When was the las' time you slept?" Ryker asked sternly, leaning on the table.

"Finding fault to obscure your own is unbecoming of you." Sleep was such a tedious necessity, there was far too much to do here to waste time being unconscious; much better to pass long journeys with it instead.

"Well I ain't goin' easy on you today."

"When do you ever," Viggo sighed, folding the report and filing it in a drawer. Brawling like a common thug was another tedious necessity, but one he could at least appreciate the purpose of. "Send them back out once their ship's repaired, somewhere further north." It was currently the biggest and most profitable ship in his fleet, and he'd been depending on its now departed cargo. They could not afford to have it sat idle.

"You don' wan' ter talk to 'em?" Ryker asked uncertainly.

"They cannot tell me what I need to know," Viggo confirmed as he crossed the tent and stepped outside. "Have our crest put back on the sails, while they're at it." The symbol for Mercury, believed by many to be the mark of the trickster, had not lived up to its reputation, but that was before he'd known there were human pieces on the playing board.

"And the riders?" Ryker asked as he followed.

A small and inexperienced group with likely minimal resources, but also possessing unparalleled travel capabilities and incredible firepower… "Allow me to think on my opening move." He just hoped they survived it, this had the potential to be an incredible game… just as long as there was someone on the other side who could play.

* * *

Suspended from a rafter by his tail, Dreamer murred thoughtfully as he inspected the map laid out below him. A large piece of parchment they'd purchased from Johann that they'd drawn Dragon's Nest in the middle of, and then a number of surrounding islands from there.

After seeing Johann's maps – from a distance – he'd decided on making his own. Awkward, certainly, but well worth the accuracy; Nightstrikers had a very good sense of geography, and he'd go insane if the map in his head didn't match the one he was using to plan.

But right now, he was stumped. There seemed to be no pattern to the hunters, no common source or destination, though that made sense if they were just sailing island to island looking for dragons; not that a boat's heading was much indication of direction, what with avoiding dead zones and being unable to sail directly into the wind. Over the last week the boats had become rarer and shabbier, but… it didn't feel right.

The big boat with the strange crest hadn't reappeared. That was part of what was bugging him, they hadn't destroyed enough of it that it wouldn't limp back home for repairs, but where was it? And as many ships as they'd hit, none had held dragons in the cages on the deck, and those that didn't have cages – and some that did – were checked at night and found to have none inside either.

He murred thoughtfully again, then stretched his wings and wrapped himself in them, the motion leaving him swaying slightly.

By all appearances, they were winning. But it was too easy, there was no big hunt for the riders, no last ditch effort, they were just dwindling away. He didn't believe it for a moment.

Whoever was leading these hunters was clever… Dreamer would just need to be cleverer.

But what should they do? Storm another ship, this time for information? Follow one for days to see where it was going?

Resolving to mull it over, he deftly reached up to grab the rafter and swung away from the table under him and to the ground, landing lightly, then trotted outside. Harsh sunlight assaulted his eyes for the instant it took them to adjust, and then he hopped into the air to glide over to the training grounds.

The first and so far only raid they had gone on had been, to put it mildly, a disaster, salvaged only by swift claws and an unhealthy dose of luck. The training grounds were the response to that, a raised platform in the shape of a ship's deck. Putting Snotlout in charge of the drills seemed to have done wonders for everyone, not only did it turn out he was somewhat versed in battle strategy but he and Astrid weren't at each other's throat anymore. Still glaring daggers at each other, but no more than that.

Dreamer watched as the riders assaulted the stick and straw dummies on the platform, knocking them around and occasionally dealing moderate wounds with weapons or spines, but it wasn't the focus. Rather, they now all worked as a team to secure a section of the deck, break inside, deal with resistance, and release the dragons as quickly as possible.

A real raid would be very different, but it would give them confidence and direction, help them deal with unexpected situations.

Actually, on that thought… Dreamer swooped down and landed at the prow of the ship, then reared onto his hindlegs and walked forward with an angry shout. How would they deal with an unexpected and dangerous opponent?

Astrid and Snotlout leaped out of the saddles – in opposite directions, away from each other – and signalled to their dragons, and Dreamer found himself walled off by two dragons and two axes. He faced them down, watching for an opening-

_"Clear!"_ Fishlegs shouted as he emerged on the back of Meatlug, navigating out of the small hatch and buzzing into the air, and Snotlout and Astrid were on their dragons and off in moments.

Not fast enough to flee from a Nightstriker, not that flight was a barrier for him, but even Dagur would have needed to throw his weapon to have a chance at drawing blood.

_"We totally had you, just so you know,"_ Tuffnut said behind him, the twins and Zippleback heads rising up over the side of the ship, and then the structure lurched a little as they pushed off to catch up with the others.

Dreamer huffed, impressed, and followed them up and over to the communal hut.

"That good, you do much better," he said with a purr as he landed.

_"I'd hope so,"_ Astrid gritted, _"we've been training our butts off. I think we're ready for the real thing now."_

"Maybe," Dreamer warbled. "Only know when we try." They thought they'd been ready the first time.

Fishlegs left to pick some vegetables to go with dinner, Astrid and Ruffnut left together, and Snotlout and Tuffnut stayed to play some game that involved… a lot of punching each other, harsh insults… Dreamer didn't really understand it, nor did he have any desire to.

Instead, he put his mind back to the hunter problem. It seemed they were as prepared as they were going to get to raid a ship, a slight change of objective would be simple. But what was he _looking_ for in such a raid? Plans? A map to their base?

A barely audible cutting of the air reached his ears, and he turned from where he was lounging by the door to look outside. Wanderer was back! He barked happily, and his friend angled down to the communal hut to land in the doorway and bounded to a halt.

"Dreamer," he barked, "hunters all flying north. Many ships."

"Many?"

"I count three pawfuls."

A dozen ships, and those only the ones he'd seen… "Show me."

They bounded over to the map, and Dreamer swept off the little chips of wood they'd been using for markers. Wanderer then nudged them back onto it, showing them in a variety of places and indeed all heading north. He could even trace them back from their respective islands that they had last been on for repairs.

Snotlout peered around him. _"Hey, that looks different, they're all pointing the same way."_

"Yes," Dreamer huffed. "I need think. We talk after eat."

_"Ugh, it's not Astrid cooking today is it?"_ Snotlout asked plaintively._ "I think I'd rather eat the floorboards…"_

"You make food, if not like," Dreamer growled absently, slapping the rider's leg with his tail.

_"Hey, I'm not _that_ desperate,"_ he said as he wandered away.

Dreamer chirped happily to Wanderer. "I think new word, 'dragon'." He'd settled on basically just the Norse version without the consonants, a bit like "ah-roh" but with the hard tonal edge of 'scale'.

"Dragon," Wanderer said slowly, then gave Dreamer a wry look. "What this word mean?"

"It mean," Dreamer growled back, "us, Stormfly, other wing-hunters here in nest."

"It mean wing-hunters we nest with?" Wanderer warbled back tiredly.

He sounded like he wasn't all that into the teasing, and there was the matter of the hunters to consider. "I just tell you if thing is dragon," Dreamer huffed. "We fly?" he asked, gesturing outside.

Wanderer hummed. "Lazy fly. I flew much today."

"Yes," Dreamer agreed, trotting outside and off the platform, then began a casual climb for height.

He watched the island slowly shrink below him as he ascended, imagining a map in its place and all the ships sailing through it. There were more islands further out than they'd explored, he was sure, but they'd never found any sinister operations out that far. They'd been too busy with the local hunters, whittling away their resources and morale.

Well, it seemed the hunters had been beaten in the war of attrition, and now they were making their next move. But what were they doing?

Dreamer's next move, were he in their place, would be to assemble them into a single fleet and hunt for the Nest, intent on driving the riders out. It wouldn't save them from the Nightstrikers' fire, but that was very limited and they could carry tools and materials for repairs on the move. With at least a dozen ships, it was feasible.

Where else would they be going? Some sort of base? So far they had shown no signs of communication or organisation, though there must be some. Of course, it could be both, returning to a base with the intent of regrouping for an assault.

Whatever he came up with, there was really only one action to take. The ships had to be followed. It would either lead them to the fleet, or to the hunters' base. Whichever the case, they could then dismantle it.

* * *

Night fell slowly, the sun departing the sky and blanketing the world in darkness. A far more ominous event after one invites the fearsome essence of night itself to their abode.

Viggo peered around the tree at the wide path leading to his hut, careful to expose as little of himself as possible. There was no telling what would happen. Maybe they would attack the fleet, currently in the process of docking and unloading, or the camp at the base of this hill, though he had positioned the few caged dragons he still had in innocently conspicuous places to imply there might be more; the riders seemed to value dragons' lives, something Viggo was all too happy to exploit.

Alternatively, they might send Ryker running for his life, recognising the superior lodgings of which he stood in the threshold, a comfortably sized hut at the top of a hill. Not much fazed the big man, but the sheer damage the Night Furies had been dealing thus far was unparalleled. _Everyone_ knew the stories, of course, but seeing the result was sobering.

Viggo let out a slow breath and leaned back against the tree, hidden from sight. This build-up was dreadfully tense and boring. All planning and preparation was finished, but normally the execution was triggered either predictably or on his own whim. It was rare he needed to subject his plans to outside influence like this. There was always the chance they hadn't taken the bait, though there were still desirable outcomes to that.

But the anticipation just made it that much more _satisfying_ when wingbeats and the scraping of claws on trodden dirt announced the arrival of his adversaries.

"Are you the one leading these hunters?" a young feminine voice asked brusquely.

"Who's askin'?" Ryker growled right back from the top of the stairs to the hut.

"We're Vikings, riding _dragons,"_ a boastful voice replied, "with two _Night Furies._ That's all you gotta know."

"A bunch o' kids ridin' dangerous beasts, looks ter me," Ryker said disdainfully. "What's yer game here?"

Viggo couldn't resist, and peered around the tree again; he would have killed any of his men for doing the same, of course, but their curiosity was worthless. There were six dragons in total, two of them mere silhouettes afore the meagre torches lining the path, the others a Nightmare, a Nadder, a Zippleback, and a Gronckle. Four of the most common, and two of the rarest of all.

"We want you to stop hunting dragons, and leave," the boastful one demanded.

"Else we'll dismantle your _entire_ operation," the girl added sternly.

One of the shadows turned, only evident by the bright green eyes within it, and Viggo tensed as that piercing gaze immediately locked onto him. To see only a sliver of his face in near total darkness, and past the light of a flame… Truly, these were creatures of darkness.

No point in hiding further. He strode from the trees while Ryker laughed in confidence borne of this all going _exactly_ as Viggo had anticipated. That was actually a compliment to these young Vikings, in truth he hadn't expected to be right. "So you are the ones who have been making a mess of my fleet," he announced himself as he strode unhurriedly into the firelight.

"Who are you?" one of the boys asked from a neck of the Zippleback.

"I am Viggo Grimborn, and this is my island, my fleet, and my, as you put it, operation."

Even as he spoke, he analysed the ragtag group, his first priority being understanding his opponents. The three at the back, the Gronckle and Zippleback riders, were mere support, uninteresting at this time. The Nightmare and Nadder riders were the ones with drive, whose eyes gleamed with motivation and ambition.

"Well, then same to you," the girl on the Nadder said. "Pack up and ship off."

Viggo absently stroked the sides of his mouth, taking in her appearance and demeanour. "Now why should I do that? Let me guess. Some measure of authority, like to think you're in charge, but you feel that nobody takes you seriously and are just desperate to prove yourself." There was a look to someone in charge, and she didn't have it.

"Ha, he _nailed_ you!" the small one crowed from the back of the Monstrous Nightmare.

Viggo had _plenty_ of ideas about the boy, but settled for giving him a brief pitying look. They were both captains, in their own right, but neither led this resistance. A pity, he had hoped to get a measure of his adversary, but it did mean he could now address his immense curiosity, the black dragons pulling and tugging at his gaze.

They were _beautiful,_ their hides gleaming in an odd way that seemed to eat the light around them. Four large green eyes watched him carefully-

Viggo's mind reeled. One of the Furies was glancing at his hands, waist, shoulders, reading him for threats. Undoubtedly, were he to so much as _think_ of making an aggressive move, it would react.

But the other, the slightly smaller of the two… It met his gaze, unwavering. Not tensely, not warily, just with a calm stare as if everything were in hand_._ _There_ was the look, letting its subordinates handle things, simply watching, _learning,_ but perhaps most frighteningly, _understanding._

"I have introduced myself," Viggo prompted, gesturing with an open palm and maintaining the staring contest with the dragon.

"Oh yeah," the boastful little man drawled happily, "meet our two Night Furies, that one's H-"

A large black wing snapped out, only the tip reaching in front of the boy but silencing him nonetheless. Proof of what Viggo already knew, but nice to have when the conclusion was as impossible as this.

The Night Fury took a slow step forward, then broke off its stare and looked to the ground; it somehow managed to make such an action seem as if it was simply unconcerned of the man in front of him. It reached out with a wide paw, and deliberately wrote large, neat runes in the dirt.

Viggo kept himself level as the dragon stepped back, hiding his excitement. "An utmost pleasure to meet you, Dreamer," he said with a slight tip of his head. The Fury almost imperceptibly repeated the gesture back to him, maintaining its level stare.

The larger Fury shot Dreamer a brief and stern glance before going back to its wary glaring, and Viggo suddenly appreciated the pair anew. The larger and slightly older brother, most likely, looking out for his reckless little brother who could sometimes be a little too smart for his own good.

He'd known they were intelligent, the notes he'd traded for the design of a cage lined up perfectly with the report of his scout, who claimed it had understood him, but this was unprecedented. Intelligence was not quantifiable by a single measure, but nonetheless this dragon was undoubtedly smarter than most humans.

"Are you two done?" the girl on the Nadder asked impatiently, a shrill note entering her voice. "As I was saying-"

Viggo raised his hand and clicked his fingers, and thirty hunters swiftly emerged from the trees around them with crossbows levelled at the group. The common dragons hissed, flaring wings and spines, baring teeth, and their riders raised their weapons as they looked around.

But the noise of such was drowned out by a piercing shriek, both Night Furies staring at Viggo with a blue glow in their open mouths. Right, of _course_ they knew the hunters were there; dragons had impeccable senses of smell, but these Furies were intelligent enough to understand the connotations. Many of his usual tactics would need revising…

"Ever seen a Night Fury shoot anything?" the second Zippleback rider asked in a voice only slightly higher than could be considered masculine. "There'll be nothing left of you before these goons can even pull the trigger."

"I have no doubt of that," Viggo replied calmly. "Are you familiar with dragonroot? A favourite of the Berserkers…" The smaller Fury twitched in recognition, its pupils narrowing and its head seeming to flatten a little. "You know of which I speak. Suffice to say, they would be the last shots you would ever fire."

"Cool," said the apparent girl on the Zippleback. "You kill us, we kill you, everybody wins!"

"_And_ loses," her twin added. "You know, 'cause everyone's dead."

Viggo had presumed the reports were exaggerated, but this really was just a bunch of kids.

Moving on. "Mutually assured destruction, a wonderful construct, is it not?" he asked Dreamer, wondering for how long they could hold the screeching glow in their mouths. "We will meet again, I am certain of it." He would make _sure_ of it.

Dreamer's maw went dark again, and the other Fury followed suit, leaving bright spots and lines in Viggo's vision. The two riders at the front groaned in frustration, the twins on the Zippleback groaned in disappointment, and the Gronckle rider looked relieved. They were giving a solid impression of their dynamic, information to be used later.

And then all the dragons spread their wings and swiftly took off, somehow not buffeting or colliding with each other as they did so despite their close proximity – so they were well practised, if nothing else.

"You don't seriously believe tha', do you?" Ryker asked gruffly as he strode over, looking up into the dark sky as the sound of the Gronckle's wings faded. "Yer talkin' like the _dragon's_ in charge."

"There are two ways to be fooled," Viggo reminded him. "To believe what is not true, and to refuse to believe what is. Underestimating that Night Fury will be the death of you."

Ryker snorted. "I know better than to estimate, tha's _your_ job. So they're clever beasts."

"I do believe I just said _not_ to underestimate it," Viggo said sternly. He didn't know about the larger one, but they should really just assume Dreamer was as intelligent as Viggo himself; overestimation was a far more forgiving mistake than underestimation.

"Wha' do you…"

He trailed off as a sound met their ears, followed by uneasy talking between the hunters still surrounding the path. "Into the trees!" Viggo shouted as the wail continued to rise in pitch and volume, then ran well into the treeline and alongside the path, away from the hut, balancing safety and a view of the sky.

The shrieking note peaked, then a short whistle accompanied a small blue light streaking from the black sky to punch into the solitary building, which simply _exploded_ as the wail tapered off and faded into the distance.

Splinters and planks of wood rained down over the path and around the haphazard corner posts, all that was left standing of what had a moment ago been a perfectly serviceable and comfortably-sized hut. Bizarrely, there were only a few tiny flames scattered around the debris that quickly burned themselves out, as if fire was a by-product of the destruction rather than the cause.

Then again, Viggo knew of no fire that could be dropped like a hammer in a line as straight as a good sword. He'd seen it burn in a multitude of colours and in strange and fascinating ways, but it always _burned._ This was beyond understanding.

"Thor's britches," Ryker cursed loudly, jogging out to survey the damage with a hand to his bald head.

"Quite," Viggo agreed, waiting a few moments before walking out himself, half in awe of the devastation and half preoccupied with calculating travel speeds of Night Furies based on the sound of it departing. "Everyone start packing!" he ordered the hunters, some of whom were still pointing weapons at the sky. "I want this island clear by daybreak!"

"I need a drink," his brother growled, turning to stomp down the path, but hesitated. "Are you _sure_ abou' this? If yer sayin' the thing tha' did _tha',"_ he pointed at the wreckage, "can think, and plan?"

"Then all the more reason," Viggo asserted, stroking his beard. "This was no threat, but rather a demonstration. Their aim is not to kill us, it is to win."

"You an' your games," Ryker groaned with a roll of his head as they walked towards the camp. "Fine. Just stay focused, we go' a business ter run here, one already runnin' into the red, an' this little scheme set our dragonroot production back _months!_ We didn't even use it, and we got nothin' for it!"

He wasn't about to get into that argument again; its presence alone was a use in and of itself. But, "Fear not, by focusing their attention we were able to work uninhibited elsewhere." Right about now, several shipments of dragons should be in the process of being unloaded and sold, the profits of which were crucial for paying the men they had and to expand and improve the fleet.

"Ah, I dunno why I worry," Ryker laughed, sounding relieved.

"Played right, they could even be used to our advantage. Of course, we'll need to bait them into another meeting…"

"Oh, now I remember why…"


	41. Severe Miscalculations

**_Author's Notes_**

_VigoGrimborne has taken up the role of beta reader for this story! You can blame him for any sudden improvement in quality._

* * *

_"Remind me again what we're doing?"_

Dreamer rolled his eyes. He didn't mind Astrid's question, but the tones he was picking up in it made him want to bite her. "We find dragons, where they nest. Know where hunters can hunt."

_"Can't you two do that more quickly on your own?"_ she asked suspiciously.

"You want do nothing? Or you want meet new dragons, maybe fight hunters?"

Fishlegs buzzed up on Wanderer's other side. _"I'd like to meet new dragons!"_ he called out enthusiastically. _"Bork left some good notes but he focused more on the 'nearly getting eaten' side of things."_

_"Did you just say 'maybe' fight?"_ Snotlout asked, pulling up close to Dreamer's tail. _"You promised fighting! I wanna hit something!"_

Dreamer growled back at him in response. "Also safer, fly together."

_"Hooh, yeah,"_ Tuffnut chuckled, coming up below them. _"Don't want to go flying into another Death Song or something huh?"_

The riders didn't have to know it, but that was exactly what Dreamer was concerned about. One mind-controlling dragon was an anomaly, two a pattern. And even besides mind control, there was plenty else that could pose a threat.

Wanderer warbled _reassurance_ and drifted a little closer to touch their wingtips, and Dreamer purred back. It would all be easier once they knew what they were up against, which was the entire point of this exercise. Only one of the four islands so far had been inhabited, by some Rock-Scales; they had initially been a little wary of the riders, but were friendly enough once convinced there was no threat.

The island they were now coming up to was near the edge of what Dreamer considered his territory, another place they might have tried for settling if the riders hadn't needed to start building. No mountain, but a presumably spring-fed river of probably fresh water ran through a rocky gorge, what looked like a great rent in an otherwise smooth island of rolling hills covered in greenery.

_"Alright then,"_ Astrid called out, _"spread out for a once-over, then meet up on the north side. Remember to keep an eye out for campsites this time."_ Camping on this island, and then another tomorrow, would save hours of travel time in unnecessary trips to and from the Nest, reducing this project from five days to two and a half days.

The Nightstrikers took the middle of the island, flying a few body-lengths from the trees and peering through the canopy. The gorge looked harmless enough, the only thing Dreamer noted was that certain exposed pastures were trimmed, indicating there was prey to find.

Snotlout was waiting when they got there at about the same time as Astrid, with Fishlegs and the twins coming in shortly after. "Prey here," Wanderer announced, to which Dreamer chuffed in confirmation. Nobody else had anything to note.

_"Alright gang, you know the drill,"_ Astrid called out as they descended. _"Fishlegs, you're with me."_

_"But I went with you last-"_ He went quiet as he glanced at her. _"…Yes ma'am."_

_"Well I'm with Hiccup,"_ Snotlout announced brashly, angling away. Dreamer shrugged at Wanderer and flapped over, easily catching up during his descent, and they landed on the firm ground in a small clearing.

He put his nose to the ground, finding little of note, as Snotlout dismounted and stretched his legs.

_"I got a bone to pick with you,"_ Snotlout began as they set off into the trees, lifting Dreamer's ears. _"You two were more than clear this is _your_ little adventure."_ Dreamer chuffed in acknowledgement. _"So why're you letting Astrid walk all over you, huh?"_

Dreamer hummed as he thought about it. "I not worried, not feel threatened. She help keep you Long-Paws flying forward. Easier when can say your words."

_"Oh yeah? Then why her?"_

"Astrid," Dreamer said with emphasis towards the original word 'fierce', "know much from Long-Paw alpha. She good with us Nightstrikers… Did have bad thoughts, do us bad, yes, but learned from that." He gave Snotlout a sideways look. "Why not Astrid?"

_"Because she's stuck up, full of herself, and just… Argh!"_

Hookfang's head snaked forward, sliding under Snotlout's elbow and nudging his side. Snotlout stroked his dragon, seeming to calm a bit. _"She's trying to take control, and I do _not_ take orders from her."_

"You try telling her?"

_"Have _you_ ever tried telling her anything?"_

Dreamer winced at that; it had taken weeks to get her to understand what she'd done to them, and what she had to do in recompense, and even then it was only under exceptional circumstances that it all hadn't gone on longer.

_"That's what I thought."_

"But what biting you?" Dreamer asked, turning the conversation around.

_"Huh?"_ Snotlout checked around himself, inspecting his arms and legs.

Dreamer rolled his eyes. "Not that. Need two for fight." He warbled thoughtfully. "Maybe something biting Astrid, make her bark at you. What biting you, make you bark at her?"

Snotlout paused, remaining silent long after the usual moment to work out the Dragonese words, then snorted. _"You wouldn't understand,"_ he muttered under his breath.

"Maybe," Dreamer admitted, suspecting he knew where at least some of Snotlout's problems stemmed from. "But you need fly strong for fight hunters. Not fold wings." He strode ahead and in front of Snotlout, forcing him to stop, and gave a low growl. "You need fly _with_ us. _Not_ kill when we say not kill."

_"…Sure,"_ Snotlout gulped with a terribly forced smile, and they resumed moving in silence.

* * *

_Kse-KA!_

Pained screeches met Dreamer's ears as he rapidly blinked and shook his head, feeling hot air rising from the corners of his open mouth and up his cheeks. The faint glow of the impending rise of the sky-fire from the water behind him caught the spray of dirt and rocks as it was thrown into the air by his shot, one he already regretted.

It had been no accident; it was as easy to accidentally shoot fire as to leap into the air and fly to the clouds. He had roused from sleep to a curious but unfamiliar chirp, spotted the Speed Stinger, and reacted automatically, firing at the ground in front of it. He understood his actions and why he'd done it, but he still regretted it. The decline of the hill was unforgiving of even the smallest inaccuracy, and even despite that the force of the blast carried further down the slope.

He leapt to his paws amidst alarmed but tired cries of confusion, then swiftly and warily prowled to the Speed Stinger, stopping just out of reach of its tail. It continued to cry out, but directed a few hisses Dreamer's way as it writhed on the ground. There didn't _appear_ to be any serious injury… but when it tried to get to its paws, its left leg gave out from under it and it dropped back onto its side.

Fishlegs was the first to reach his side. _"A Speed Stinger! Oh Thor, is it, did you, oh man…!"_ Dreamer whined in reply, he hadn't meant to hurt it, only warn it away!

_"Where there's one, there's more,"_ Astrid said warily. _"We should get out of here."_

"We not can leave it!" Dreamer barked at her. He had, with many hours of reflection and introspection, come to terms with killing several of the dragons in the past, if indirectly, but this was totally different. It hadn't even been aggressive, only curious, and he'd just reacted in those bleary moments immediately after waking.

Snotlout scoffed. _"Well what do you want to do, tie it up and carry it with us?"_ Dreamer stared back levelly at him. _"…Great. Me and my big mouth."_

"I get its tail," Dreamer growled, "Ruffnut, Tuffnut, distract it, Wanderer, pin its legs, Snotlout, get its head. Astrid, use things for stop it moving. Fish-Legs, try help its hurt."

_"Come on sis, we're up,"_ Tuffnut said placidly, as if this was everyday happenstance.

_"Yeah, c'mon, hit me!"_ Ruffnut shouted at it, darting into range, only for the tail to whip around with blinding speed and jab her in the arm before Dreamer could leap on it. In the next moment he was grabbing it firmly in his gums and forcing it to the ground while Wanderer and Snotlout pinned the rest of it, but too late. _Great,_ now Ruffnut would be-

_"Huh, that's weird,"_ Ruffnut mused, prodding her right arm. It looked as stiff as expected, but the rest of her was fine. _"Kinda like when you've slept on it wrong, and you can't feel it?"_

_"Huh, maybe it's an adolescent-"_

"Fish-Legs!" Dreamer barked, getting his attention away from the Ruffnut curiosity and to the thrashing dragon, which Astrid was already in the process of tying up.

_"Ah-! Sorry!"_ Fishlegs shouted, crouching down by the dragon and deftly running his fingers down its leg. _"Not broken, but I think it's fractured,"_ he said as he bound part of the frame of the roasting spit to the leg. _"It'll need time to heal. You don't actually want to bring it back with us do you…?"_

"I do this," Dreamer said sombrely, staring down at the dragon that was still struggling, but without any of the frantic energy of before. "I need help it."

_"Alright, just… this is a Speed Stinger. I hope you know what you're doing."_

"I also," he agreed as he helped navigate the tail to its belly so it could be secured.

_"Just hurry up,"_ Snotlout snapped, now freed from his task and scanning the edge of the forest down the hill._ "The quicker we load this up, the less chance we have of facing the rest of the pack!"_

_"I thought you wanted a fight,"_ Ruffnut jeered at him.

_"Yeah, a fight! You can't fight a pack of Speed Stingers!"_

Wanderer barked to silence them, a terse bark that wouldn't carry far; making a lot of sound really wasn't a smart idea.

_"Uh, who's gonna carry it?"_ Tuffnut asked.

"I hurt it, I carry it," Dreamer gritted; it was his responsibility. "Snotlout, fly behind me, ready for catch me." Just in case.

_"You're really serious about this aren't you?"_ Snotlout asked incredulously. _"Fine. Just keep it away from me. And if it stings you, I'm letting it drop."_

That was acceptable, given the circumstances, as it wouldn't be safe to catch anyway. Though he watched carefully as it was wrapped in Fishlegs' blanket and thoroughly tied up.

It was much smaller and lighter than a deer, and Dreamer had no trouble getting off the ground, holding the bundle of dragon to himself. Once he got into the air it was actually rather comfortable, not nearly as smooth as flying without the weight of course but better than he'd been expecting.

He spared a glance across at his broad wings, how far to either side they extended. Wanderer must be about as big as he'd been when Dreamer had originally found him by now, and Dreamer was only a little smaller. Their growth had _felt_ slow, but in only a few years he'd grown from something the size of his sire's cupped hands to larger than his sire himself.

That slow feeling was probably all the Hels they'd been put through in those few years. Being trapped, crippled, unable to fly…

He looked down at the Speed Stinger in his grasp, which had gone still; whether sleeping with the rising sky-fire or simply having accepted its circumstance was unknown. They could not fly, the equivalent for them was running… and Dreamer had just taken that from it for no more reason than that he'd felt threatened. He couldn't live with that.

Wanderer drifted up next to him, staring curiously at the Speed Stinger. "That Fast-Paw," he said in amusement, "it 'dragon' also?"

Dreamer groaned. This just wasn't his morning.

* * *

Fishlegs eyed the wooden bars of the small cage with suspicion. Speed Stingers didn't seem to have fire and it was solidly built out of thick branches, but using wood to cage a dragon was just asking for trouble.

The dragon inside seemed calm enough, though it occasionally barked in a piercingly high pitch that was unmistakably a distress call for its pack. More at night than during the day, at the misfortune of the riders trying to sleep.

Still, while they didn't have the time or resources to build a hut for it, an enclosure wasn't much of an issue. Though, maybe enclosure was the wrong word…

After checking the covering over its tail again, Fishlegs opened the door from beside the makeshift cage, giving the dragon free roam onto the ledge. Not exactly much room for running, but it couldn't do that anyway, and it was enough for some boulders and logs to be strewn around so that it had some obstacles to climb over; the place didn't feel so bare at least. Contained on one side by a sheer cliff face, and on the other three by a fence and a sheer drop, it couldn't possibly go anywhere but down.

But the Speed Stinger remained in the cage. Fishlegs peered in at it and it shied back; it was definitely awake, though it was only evening, it just didn't want to leave its cage.

After Fishlegs had scratched his head at it for a while and eventually tried to coax it out, Hiccup flapped into a landing and slowly approached the cage, looking particularly non-threatening. _"It not want come out?"_ he warbled.

"Apparently not," Fishlegs replied, shrugging in confusion. "Maybe we should shake it out?"

Hiccup grimaced at that. _"No,"_ he said firmly, then peered into the side of the cage. The dragon inside just shuffled away from him, then barked its high-pitched call again. Hiccup sighed. _"It hurt, lonely, not know what we doing… This,"_ he gestured to the cage, _"feel safe."_

"I get it being lonely and confused, but what kind of cage feels _safe?_ That's messed up."

_"I know,"_ Hiccup said quietly, drooping. _"Take things off its tail,"_ he growled a moment later.

"Uhh… Hiccup, I don't think that's a good idea. This is a Speed Stinger. Maybe you took one down before but, well, you're… how do I put this… a bit of a bigger target now."

_"You say I heavy?"_ Hiccup asked, though his humour was forced. _"Yes, I sure."_ He then stepped around to the front of the cage, prompting the dragon inside to shuffle to the back, just within reach…

"Ohh I just know I'm going to regret this," Fishlegs complained as he carefully tugged at the knot. It was a little tricky as it was a very good knot, they'd been able to rebind it while it was asleep without it so much as stirring; it actually seemed to be totally unresponsive during the day whatever they did to it. "There, not off completely but it should be able to get it off itself now." He tugged the rope along the tail, bringing the new freedom to the dragon's attention, and sure enough it had its tail free in moments while Hiccup backed up.

With that done, it then limped out, that dangerous tail pointed forwards and twitching aggressively. What was Hiccup _doing?_ He wasn't growling or threatening it off or anything, just continued to back up as it advanced on him.

And then he lowered himself onto his chest, lazily splaying his paws and resting his head on them. "Hiccup," Fishlegs hissed urgently, but the Night Fury just glared at him briefly before letting his gaze casually wander around.

A detail he had forgotten long ago flourished in Fishlegs' mind, who this dragon had once been, spontaneously brought forward by this crazy and reckless plan… and that it was _working._ This was exactly what Hiccup had done with the dragons in the arena, all those years ago; while the other five teens backed up, searched for weapons, and prepared for a fight, he'd simply been calm and sure, even putting his back to the dangerous creatures.

Fishlegs found himself dredging up those old questions around the impossible change from teenage Viking to baby dragon while the Speed Stinger ignored the lounging Night Fury to limp around its playground, investigating its surroundings. Well, 'change' wasn't the right word, rather his mind had been moved somehow… Moved? Or had Hiccup been pulled back from Valhalla? Night Furies were the offspring of lightning and _death,_ after all…

A cautious chirp caught his attention, and he brought himself back to the present to find the Speed Stinger staring at him from only a couple of paces away. "Uhhh… Hiccup…?" But the Night Fury wasn't anywhere to be seen. He stared wide-eyed at the Speed Stinger, at its blood-red eyes that watched him warily, at the tail held over its back, poised to strike. "…Nice… dragon…?"

He stared at it, so sure it would strike, for long minutes, while it stared back at him… until _finally_ Hiccup returned, dropping two fish from his mouth and barking for the Speed Stinger's attention.

Fishlegs relaxed as those red eyes moved away from him, then watched curiously as the dragon limped away to snap down the fish. It still ignored Hiccup, but it wasn't attacking him either. It hadn't yet attacked either of them.

Speed Stingers had seemed to be the first exception to the old Book of Dragons being wrong about everything, but now that too was up in the air.

He should really be taking notes…

* * *

Wanderer was used to his Dreamer doing crazy things. Taking a Fast-Paw under his wing wasn't even the craziest, though it was high up there.

He was also used to such crazy things actually working, though he had to admit it was disconcerting watching a Fast-Paw poke around the nest. It was recovering much of its speed, but it still walked with a limp that spoke of some small pain, and still needed the binding on its leg.

_"Uh, what is _that_ thing doing here?"_ Snotlout growled as he stalked into the shared den. The Fast-Paw turned to him and hissed, raising its tail threateningly. _"And who unbound its tail!? I tell ya, it's just _waiting_ to sting us all!"_

_"Quiet down,"_ Astrid groaned at him. _"It hasn't stung anyone yet, and it needs its weapon to feel safe."_ She casually gestured to him. _"You want to give up your axe for the day?"_

_"I don't care what you say,"_ he shot back, pointing aggressively at the Fast-Paw,_ "I said to keep that _thing_ away from me!"_

In the time it took him to say that, the Fast-Paw zipped across the room and its tail whipped forth before Dreamer could get to it, though he only ushered it away with gentle flaps of his wings and a calm croon.

Snotlout stared at his arm, which now appeared to be stuck in an aggressive pointing position. _"See what I mean!?"_ He turned so his finger was pointed at Dreamer. _"I blame you for this!"_ He then stomped off, his grumbling fading into the distance.

Wanderer yawned, wondering why he'd bothered to learn the Long-Paw language. They were easier to ignore when he hadn't been able to understand the words.

The Fast-Paw walked over to him, tail poised but not aggressively. He was tempted to growl and warn it off, but Dreamer gave him a significant look and nodded at it.

Wanderer huffed, then leaned in to scent the Fast-Paw back, not surprised to confirm it was an adolescent male as Fish-Legs had guessed. It chirped agreeably at him before hopping away to investigate some hollow-tree-things against a wall.

It certainly wasn't being aggressive, but Dreamer's attempts to interact with it were still largely going ignored. Over the last pawful of lights it had gradually grown more comfortable and did seem to like company, occasionally chirping or clucking at someone nearby, but wasn't interested in playing or really anything involving physical contact.

Which was fine by Wanderer, he had no particular desire to play with it.

_"He seems to be settling,"_ Astrid mused, echoing Wanderer's thoughts.

"Yes," Dreamer agreed, "leg healing also. Still feel bad I hurt him, but this good."

_"Any sign of the hunters?"_ Astrid asked; Dreamer was not long back from a flight around their territory.

"No," Dreamer replied with a growl. "I not know what they doing, but I not find any. I fly out to their last nest, not there or near there. I think they do something soon, but not know what." So a bit beyond their territory, even.

_"So what's the plan?"_

Dreamer sighed. "We find dragons, watch for hunters. Not more we can do." He walked over to the 'map' which showed the various small-lands, though of course there was none of the little bits of tree on it to show the hunters. The bad Long-Paws had all disappeared.

_"Are you sure we shouldn't have followed them? We might have found something."_

"Like before?" Dreamer growled. "No, I not think we would. Hunter alpha… he think much. We would only wasted time."

Wanderer growled. The hunter alpha, _Viggo,_ had honestly frightened him a little. Not because of anything he'd done, but because he'd looked at everyone in the way Dreamer looked at a problem in his clever Dreamer way. Viggo wasn't blindly firing into the mist, he was undoubtedly a careful and tricky hunter…

* * *

It had been a few weeks since the resident Speed Stinger had kept everyone awake with its piteous calls, but once again Astrid found herself rolling back and forth over the hard boards of her bed trying to find sleep while the dragon bayed and yowled to the night.

Speed Stingers were nocturnal, and Fishlegs had suggested it might be getting lonely, but _this_ was ridiculous. Astrid gave up on trying to sleep, tossing away her blanket and walking outside to peer down at the flat they kept it on for most of the time. As far as she was concerned, this was the last straw, it was basically healed enough to be released.

Apparently Snotlout had a similar idea, as his grating voice drifted out over the Nest as he shouted at the noisy dragon. It ignored him, barking again in that high-pitched call for its pack-

A distant answering call, so distant Astrid wasn't even sure she'd heard it, sounded in response. The Speed Stinger barked again, and there was another answer.

"Stormfly!" Astrid called out, leaping back to the door to her hut and flinging it wide open. Her Nadder was in the process of flinging herself to her paws, and was quickly saddled. _"Danger, Fast-Paws,"_ Astrid hissed before climbing up, and Stormfly hissed back warily.

Astrid hesitated as she buckled herself in. Speed Stingers were landbound dragons, not capable of flight, and they didn't look like particularly strong swimmers. It had to have been a few weeks since they'd taken it, but how could the pack have made it here?

But she'd definitely heard _something._

Thankfully, the moonlight was strong and the night clear, giving her good visibility. She couldn't see any dragons in the sky…

Now that they were drifting out, the answering call was much louder, below her. She leaned out and peered down, letting Stormfly drift down a bit. She spotted the wake before she did the dragons, a wide arrow pointed directly at the Nest, dark shapes leading its advance.

She stared at it, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. It wasn't until they drifted closer that she accepted the impossibility.

"Stormfly, rally!" Her dragon let out a loud roar, one that would summon the other dragons and their riders, but they might not be fast enough, and she still didn't know what to _do._

If she needed time, then that was her first priority. She angled Stormfly out to swoop down in front of the encroaching Speed Stingers, which were somehow running over the water as if it were land, and fired a strafing shot across the water in front of them. They angled away from the wide plume of steam, away from the Nest, but that was the most she could do; Stormfly had limited fire, and the island was big.

As she herded them away from the bay a second time, forcing them around the island, the Furies swooped onto the scene. They immediately caught on and also tried to help herd them by blustering and roaring, but the flightless dragons were persistent and kept angling for the bay, for the Nest.

Only the eventual arrival of the other riders, as they neared the island, dissuaded them with fire and roars. Giving up on their immediate target, they turned out to run alongside the island while everyone tailed them at a short distance.

"These things can _run_ on _water!?"_ Snotlout shouted hysterically.

"Evidently!" Fishlegs shouted back. "But I'll need more information to formulate a-!"

"Fishlegs!" Astrid snapped, cutting him off. "We don't have enough fire to keep them away from the island, what do we do?"

Snotlout pulled Hookfang forward a bit. "If we take out their alpha, they'll start fighting each other." He looked like he had more to add, but was cut off by snarling.

_"No,"_ one of the Furies said firmly, though she wasn't sure which was which at the moment; she could barely even see what he was saying. _"We not killing them. Also we need let them on land, not know if they can keep running to other small-land."_

"This is a terrible idea!" Snotlout shouted, but didn't otherwise argue.

They followed the dragons to a beach, where they instantly picked up speed and disappeared into the darkness. The Furies winged ahead, naturally better suited to seeing in the dark, but they must have disappeared into the forest or something because they soon turned back.

"Well now what!?" Ruffnut yelled, the worry clear in her voice. "I don't plan on getting stung again!"

_"Come,"_ one of the Furies barked, leading them back towards the base, and everyone followed; they'd lost the Speed Stingers anyway, and planning was easier on the ground where they didn't have to shout at each other.

The doorway emitted a blue flash as Stormfly alighted on the large platform rimming the communal hut, closely followed by the warm glow of fire. She dismounted and entered, Stormfly contenting to remain outside. _Mmm,_ the warmth was blissful after being outside in the autumn night air.

"You know, Hiccup," Fishlegs said more casually than Astrid would expect as he entered the hut, "we still haven't done testing with your fire yet. We should set aside some time…" He trailed off, and _then_ his nervousness started showing.

"Okay," Astrid started to get everyone on track, "there are Speed Stingers on the island and they're probably after the one we've got. First thing's first, how many are there?"

Toothy lifted a paw, flexing the claws on it three times and then just three claws. This sort of thinking was more Fishlegs' expertise, but she was getting used to counting in fours and eights. "Fifteen then," she confirmed. "Alright, how's our Speed Stinger's injury?"

Fishlegs nervously wrung his hands. "I don't really know, it's not like I can ask it, but it seems to be moving around okay now. I wouldn't recommend it literally _running on water_ for another week or so though, fractures take time to heal. Dragons do at least seem to be a bit quicker than humans though."

"We might not have a choice," Astrid said levelly. "Toothy, Hiccup?"

_"We already do all we can do,"_ Hiccup said thoughtfully, his enormous eyes reflecting the firelight with a familiar but still eerie glow. _"I think we can trust they will help him."_

Ruffnut slapped the table. "Great! Let's go get it into its cage and let it go."

_"Sky-fire will kindle soon,"_ Toothy hummed. _"Also Fast-Paw not calling for pack now."_ A silence followed his words while everyone listened, noting the distinct absence of the dragon calling out its high-pitched bark. _"They will find cave, sleep, come back next night when –, strong."_

Astrid repeated the unfamiliar word, to have Fishlegs confirm it to be 'rested'. So they would be recovering their strength…

"All the more reason to let it go now then," Snotlout pushed. "Let it find its pack and let them leave. If it can't run, well too bad because if we don't then they're all only going to attack here anyway."

As much as she hated to agree with Snotlout, "He's right," Astrid agreed. "If we can free it now, it'll reunite with its pack and there won't be any issues."

* * *

Not only had the Speed Stinger not been interested in calling for or looking for its pack once lifted up to the island proper, but now that night was falling again and it had woken up it still wasn't interested in looking.

It was doing plenty of calling, but…

"Go!" Dreamer barked down at the Speed Stinger as it ran along below him. It just happily and loudly announced its presence again, deftly weaving between shrubs and the occasional tree as it continued following.

A reply called out from somewhere nearby, but in the opposite direction as last time. Even now that they were only wheeling around in circles, the pack didn't want to approach.

_"This isn't working!"_ Snotlout shouted angrily. _"You just _had_ to take in the Speed Stinger, didn't you!?"_

_"They mustn't be willing to approach with us flying around,"_ Fishlegs suggested. _"And maybe it won't leave us until it knows that's its pack, or something."_

Dreamer groaned under his breath. "We land," he barked, then dropped into a casual dive. If it wouldn't leave them to go to its pack, some sort of meeting was inevitable. He thought he had a handle on the Speed Stingers though, and as long as there wasn't anything to contest there shouldn't be any reason to fight.

_"There is no way I'm going down there!"_ Snotlout griped.

_"You're not scared of a few little dragons are you?"_ Astrid jeered as she and Stormfly dove after the Nightstrikers. Snotlout and the other riders followed close behind.

Dreamer landed lightly on the grass, followed by Wanderer, and the Speed Stinger ran around to a halt in front of them. It chirped happily as it looked around. _That was a great game,_ it seemed to be saying, _what are we doing next?_

Another call from the pack sounded out as the riders all landed behind the Nightstrikers, and the Speed Stinger turned to face it with its reply.

Very quickly, they were surrounded.

_"Hey guys,"_ Fishlegs said slowly. _"I think…"_

"Not now," Dreamer grunted over his shoulder as he scanned the Speed Stinger pack. The alpha was not difficult to locate, again being considerably larger than the others and with strange markings, but he and some of the others had minor wounds, long gashes over their bodies. One was even missing a foreleg – or maybe they were arms, Fishlegs couldn't decide.

Another thing they had in common was that they were ignoring the Nightstrikers. They all looked up at the mounted riders warily, tails pointed aggressively.

The alpha stepped forward, making an odd whistling sound and staring at the young Speed Stinger. It responded with a happy chirp, hopping forward to rejoin its pack.

Dreamer breathed a sigh of relief, tinged with a little regret. Fishlegs had been ecstatic on examining it during the day to discover the retractable webbing between its claws, apparently allowing it to run on water; there had been nothing of the sort on the ones that had attacked Berk. There was still so much more he wanted to learn about them, and this was such a unique circumstance…

It paused and looked back at Dreamer, as if it were feeling the same way. "Go," Dreamer said to it.

The alpha directed a short snarl at him-

And the adolescent Speed Stinger snarled right back, sidestepping to stand between it and Dreamer, and the rest of the pack erupted into motion, darting unpredictably around the group of dragons and riders.

There were confused and alarmed shouts, both human and draconic, but Dreamer couldn't focus on that. He was busily watching the dragons darting around him, baring teeth and swiping at any that looked like they were tempted to get too close, backed up to Wanderer who was doing the same.

And even as he did that, he had to _think._

The Speed Stinger had defended him from the alpha, why? He shifted his weight to prepare to bite down on an approaching tail, and the attack was aborted. Perhaps it was repaying the favour for helping its leg heal?

Several more attacks warded off in quick succession. A glance at the riders behind him showed them all backed into a circle, surrounding themselves with flame and lava. They were holding their own. He shifted again, angling a wing for a strike. Every stance, every movement, had an opening from at least one direction, so every time a Speed Stinger made to exploit those openings he had to shift to cover them, thus creating more openings.

The alpha and the adolescent were still staring each other down, though their tails were pointed back for some reason; not in submission, they were posed identically, and still growling. A strike glanced off Dreamer's taut wing, and for a few moments he was actually dodging and responding to attacks, warding them away with slashing claws and snapping teeth.

It was defying his pack, its alpha, to repay a kindness that in itself was a repayment for causing the injury in the first place. That didn't sit right, they were very much pack dragons-

The answer came so suddenly that it distracted him and he very nearly got stung, the sharp tip grazing off the scales on his shoulder and narrowly missing the leading edge of his wing. His paw caught the dragon's side and sent it tumbling out of the fray, though it quickly flipped upright and disappeared into the chaos again. A pair of attackers had to be warded off with the screech of his fire building in his mouth-

Everything became startlingly clear. His tail swung and caught one coming up in the blindspot to his side, and a wing blocked another from in front while his head was turned. Anywhere he looked was clear of the Speed Stingers, they were staying out of the path of the deadly fire casting an eerie blue glow over the clearing, and anywhere he wasn't looking was no longer a blind spot. The area around them gradually grew, and the attacks became less frequent.

Now that he could think again, and had realised the problem, what could he do about it?

The problem didn't require much thinking, there was really only one solution… as much as he disliked it.

He fired the shot in his mouth, only a small blast, hitting the ground under the adolescent Speed Stinger's tail. It yelped, startled, as it was showered with dirt and tiny rocks, and wildly looked around. Dreamer warded off a few more attacks and fired again, and again, driving the dragon back towards the alpha.

It bayed in confusion, staring wildly at Dreamer as it backed up, but also glancing back at its alpha, until Dreamer held his last shot. He had half his explosive gas left, but only the minimum amount of plasma required to shoot it.

_"Leave,"_ he snarled with a depth that came less from emotion and more from sheer requirement.

It screeched at him, and then the alpha roared and all the dragons disappeared into the trees.

Dreamer staggered in the abrupt silence, adrenaline still hot in his veins and his panting heavy in his ears, and sat down. Wanderer groaned tiredly behind him with a shuffling sound that said he'd slumped to his haunches as well, a sound echoed by the riders.

Most of them. _"That. Was. Awesome!"_ Tuffnut shouted.

_"I think I'm gonna be sick,"_ Fishlegs groaned, leaning over Meatlug's head. Everyone seemed to be unharmed, as they were all still moving around.

Except then Ruffnut fell out of the saddle, and Tuffnut and their dragon laughed at her. _"Hey, it's not funny!"_ she yelled back at him, struggling to get up with an arm and leg immobilised.

_"Ugh, did anyone _not_ get hit?"_ Fishlegs asked wearily.

_"I didn't,"_ Tuffnut announced. He was alone.

Dreamer warbled in confusion and padded over, stepping over the globs of cooling lava. "You all still can move?"

"Fast-Paws all fledglings," Wanderer mumbled, coming up beside him. "Wrr, some adults, maybe two."

Fishlegs held up a finger, his face still hidden in the back of Meatlug's neck. _"Yeah, so what I was saying earlier… Where are the rest of them?"_ There was an eerie silence while everyone stared at him. _"The pack that attacked Berk was, what, forty strong at least? Fifteen's kind of low."_

"They injured," Dreamer said, trying to push past his morose mood. "Bigger Fast-Paws have many hurts. I think… hunters maybe attack them."

_"Can we go back to the Nest?"_ Astrid asked. _"I can't see a thing anymore."_ She tentatively let go of the saddle to rub her eyes with her left hand, then blinked heavily. Her axe was still in her right hand, frozen in place.

"Hey," Dreamer barked, getting the attention of the dragons. "You can fly?"

Barf picked up Ruffnut by the collar, which she grumbled about, and they flew back to the Nest and alighted outside the communal hut. The Nightstrikers padded inside, and everyone else stumbled and dragged themselves inside while Wanderer lit the fire with a glob of plasma and Dreamer dropped a log on it.

The group all looked a bit sorry for themselves, various limbs stiffly motionless, as they crowded around to lean on the table. They left a gap on one side so they could see the Nightstrikers, who lowered themselves to the floor.

_"So, I think I'm not the only one wondering what in _Niflheim_ just happened!?"_ Snotlout barked.

"Fast-Paw," Dreamer sighed, "he think we his pack."

_"So…"_ Fishlegs started after a few moments of silence, _"he had to choose between us or them…"_

"That what I think," Dreamer confirmed with a nod for Ruffnut's benefit. "Alpha not liked that. Not liked you." He took a deep breath while everyone waited for him to elaborate. "Those Fast-Paws mostly fledglings, not many adults. Pawful, maybe. Adults had many hurts, look like hurts from Long-Paws."

Fishlegs hummed thoughtfully. _"So if the hunters got to them, that would explain why there were so few of them."_

"Yes," Dreamer agreed.

_"We were too late for these guys,"_ Astrid said sadly.

Everyone stared at the fire in silence for a time, listening to it crackle.

Dreamer huffed to get their attention again. "There was death always. There will be death always. We come here sooner, we too slow for other dragon. Not feel bad, not us who do that. We here now. We help now." That had been a hard lesson to learn himself; however fast he was in fixing something, there would always be someone he was too slow to save.

_"That doesn't make it okay,"_ Astrid growled.

"No," Wanderer agreed. "But it not you who do that. Be angry, but not at you."

_"Hey, so what's that like, anyway?"_ Tuffnut asked casually, poking Astrid's arm.

_"Fine,"_ she replied shortly, _"can't even feel it."_

_"Just wait,"_ Ruffnut groaned, _"when it starts wearing off it feels like there's a hole in your arm. That's because there's a hole in your arm."_

Dreamer huffed tiredly to Wanderer while the riders talked about the Speed Stinger paralysis, and they quietly stood and made their way outside and to their den. It had been… a _really_ long day.

* * *

Astrid stumbled for the door, wrestling with her stiff arm and side. She'd never known how much it was used for balance until it was locked at an awkward angle, but being the middle of the night didn't help.

"Hel-cursed Speed Stingers again," Snotlout grumbled to himself under his breath behind her as he dragged a stiff leg across the floor. "Why do we always gotta deal with the dragons that always want to _eat_ us?"

"Seriously, you've done nothing but complain since we got here," Astrid said levelly at him. There was no frustration or anger behind her words, just pure observation. "Why _did_ you come? Compared to the rest of us, you Jorgensons get it easy. The rest of us have to _prove_ ourselves warriors."

"Oh that's rich, coming from you," he griped. "We Jorgensons, have never lost a Thawfest game. Never."

"You mean until now," Astrid said levelly, staring back at him.

"Hey, I had you beat in the _real_ challenges," he growled. "Then this year, yeah, let's bring dragons in, change three hundred years of tradition. And guess who gets the short end of the stick?"

"Are you blaming your _dragon?"_

"I didn't say that."

"Then what's this about?"

"You asked," he grunted, then awkwardly shoved his way past her and out the door.

* * *

The good weather continued to last, despite progressing well into autumn. It made Dreamer wonder why the Hooligans were so adamant in staying on their miserable little island. Sure, it was _enormous,_ and plentiful in various resources, but the land was rough and jagged, it rained more often than not, and the hard ground was difficult to farm.

Out here there were far fewer clouds, granting blissfully warm sunshine and beautifully clear nights, and the rain they did get was steady but not torrential or stormy. It hadn't even hailed on Dragon's Nest yet.

Still, the other tribes had far more pleasant weather, and would be impossible to move; the inhabitable islands out here were further apart. Dreamer glanced around as he flew, seeing only the other riders in formation behind him and the endless sea in all directions with some faint smudges on the horizon.

Amidst Johann's usual rambling on his latest visit, to trade a number of furs they had accumulated for seeds, preserves, leathers, and an assortment of things, he had mentioned an encounter with a large dragon hunter vessel. Dreamer wasn't even sure the merchant knew what the riders were out here for, but he seemed to think nothing of it and Astrid was almost subtle in probing for details.

Based on Johann's description, Dreamer was able to narrow down its heading to an island not far out of his territory, one that looked like it might be home to one or more varieties of dragons They clearly intended to hunt, as it was unlikely there was any sort of base there with how they hadn't spotted any traffic around it.

This time, everything had been planned out in advance. Off to their left, the last embers of the sky-fire were fading, though the night was clearer and brighter than they'd hoped it was still quite dark. This time, they had practised, all knew their roles well in advance, and hopefully wouldn't do something stupid in some misguided sense of glory.

Everyone was silent for the duration of the trip. When the island came into view, when the riders noticed it and their faces set in determination, Astrid didn't even feel the need for a motivating speech. The first time, they had been blindly swinging around themselves with nothing but raw enthusiasm. This time they were striking quickly and with precision.

As they neared the island, the Nightstrikers flew ahead to locate their quarry. It was reasonably big and roughly circular, split almost completely down the middle by a rocky mountain range that provided a variety of environments. There were many places for a ship to dock, but it was difficult to miss the three tall masts jutting up from a long beach. Cages haphazardly littered the shore, most with doors hanging open but some looked occupied. It looked like everything was winding down for the day, there was just a single torch on the mast to light the deck as hunters meandered over it, packing up or whatever they were doing. This time it bore the hunters' crest on the sails, the likeness of a flaming fist.

They returned to the riders and Dreamer quietly barked three times, a necessary code in the darkness; once for trouble, twice to land and discuss, three times to go ahead with the mission.

If the hunters listened carefully they might have heard Meatlug's buzzing approach, but that didn't matter. While Wanderer reminded Hookfang and Stormfly of what they needed to do, Dreamer dove, flexing his sub-wings to produce the wail of a diving Nightstriker. It would never cease to be amusing, how the hunters below paused, as if listening to confirm what they already knew, and then began scurrying for cover.

But that wasn't the point today. He pulled up just above the masts and immediately tucked away his sub-wings, cutting off the sound. The images of sound-sight lingered surprisingly long afterward, and as he sped away and banked around he mused that he really should experiment and practise with it.

Confusion would be prevalent on the ship. A Nightstriker never missed – not once he'd had some practise – but Dreamer hadn't fired at all. Right about now they would all be peeking out of their hiding places, watching the sky and listening for the attack that had not come, perhaps squinting up at the silhouettes against the stars…

Hookfang and Stormfly fired in unison, just over the top of the ship, Hookfang's flames arcing over the edge to quench harmlessly in the water. Dreamer's eyes rapidly adjusted back, leaving only a small spot in his vision, but the hunters aboard would not be so lucky with their inferior sight. Particularly when a bolt of blue fire removed the one torch from existence.

Dreamer's own shot streaked towards the boat, striking the side of the main cabin in exactly the same place as last time. He had a moment of confusion that it didn't do nearly as much damage as Wanderer's had, punching a hole in the wood but nothing more, but then he had reached the deck and could think no more of it.

Startled and blinded, the hunters flailed helplessly against the riders and dragons suddenly surrounding them, now only Barf and Belch using their explosive fire so as to not start any illuminating flames. A debilitatingly loud noise distracted Dreamer for a moment, one of the hunters striking the rim of his shield with his weapon, but it quickly ceased as Snotlout cleaved the head from the axe and dealt debilitating – but thankfully non-lethal – injuries.

Dreamer shook his ringing head and lunged for his target again, a man hunched over something at the prow. It wasn't clear what he was doing, and that was suspicious, so the hunter found himself with his legs swept out from under him and then Dreamer slammed him heavily against the deck. He stopped moving.

_"It's locked!"_ Fishlegs shouted, and Dreamer barked in reply. Rather than try to open the trapdoor, he jumped up and grabbed hold of the mast, using that to fling himself higher and adjusting with his wings to fire a small shot directly down into the edge of the big cargo doors. A foot-wide hole appeared where the lock would be underneath, allowing the doors to be opened-

_"Imbeciles,"_ a distinctly well-pronounced voice growled, _"must I do everything myself?"_

Dreamer whirled on the source, noting Viggo striding around the edge of the fight and to the rail. He wasted no time, simply striking what looked like a flint and steel-

A flame sped along the rail, lighting several little fires even brighter than Stormfly's fire, and light suddenly flooded over the deck. At the same time the cargo doors seemingly flung themselves open.

The turnaround was practically instant. The riders were now the blinded combatants, and were quickly disarmed and pinned by superior strength and numbers. The remaining hunters jumped on the dragons, more than practised in taking down the common types, while more streamed out of the cabin, carrying bolas and nets, quickly roping the twins together and dragging the Zippleback's heads onto the deck, the rest of it scrambling to follow.

All this in the time for a platform to rise from the ship's hold, and for the pair of net launchers on it to fire at the Nightstrikers.


	42. Dangerous Prey

Knowing what the launcher was didn't help, the net was already crossing the short distance. One of the weights bounced off the deck beneath Dreamer's chest, and another under his tail, the net itself pulling his wing to his side and wrapping around his flanks as he was pulled onto his side.

He struggled to get to his paws, his hindclaws already tangled in the web of rope, but heavy hands grabbed him and forced him back down, holding his mouth closed.

It was over in a matter of heartbeats, the only sounds the hissing of the strange little torches on the rail, the grunting of the struggling riders and dragons, and the scraping of claws against wood.

_"__You had one job,"_ Viggo calmly scolded the injured hunters, briefly closed his eyes to take a breath, then looked between the Nightstrikers. _"__Ah, Dreamer,"_ he greeted warmly as he walked over, _"__a pleasure to see you again."_

Dreamer growled at him, staring either side of the hand holding his snout down.

_"__Come now, you have to be prepared for a little give and take. Speaking of, I have a small task for you, if you will."_ Dreamer growled again. _"__You don't even know what I want of you yet, I suspect you'll find it rather fascinating. Now then…"_ A hunter handed him something, and he held it up with a grimace as if it were a rotting rag.

For a few moments, Dreamer couldn't quite work out what it was, a short metal bar attached to some straps… but he hissed dangerously once he recognised the muzzle.

_"__Indeed, I cannot say the prospect thrills me either."_ Viggo tossed the abominable device over his shoulder, and it dropped over the rail and out of sight. _"__My policy is to show people at minimum the respect I am shown myself. You appear to be an intelligent dragon, so I implore you, do not make me regret that…"_

Dreamer stared impassively at him. On one paw, this still felt a little too close to Alvin's ultimatums. On the other, Viggo struck him as a man of integrity, despite his despicable occupation, and if they'd put that muzzle on him he would have fought them every step of the way; in some ways, he appreciated the consideration. He nodded, as much as his flat head allowed while being held down.

At a signal from Viggo, the hunters warily let him rise and untangle himself from the net. _"__Boss, what do we do with the others?"_ one asked.

Viggo looked at the man, a miniscule widening of his eyes and then a diminutive furrowing of his brow suggesting he'd not considered it; he had a very good handle on his expressions, more than most Long-Paws. _"__Hold them there while… you, and you, haul cages up onto the deck to put them in. Put the riders with their dragons."_ Maybe Dreamer just wasn't reading his extremely subtle tells properly, he sounded almost bored saying that.

Having kicked off the last of the rope, Dreamer snorted at him. _"__Of course,"_ Viggo said graciously as he turned, then led Dreamer with long steps to the aft of the ship. _"__You,"_ he picked out one of the four hunters holding Wanderer down,_ "__come with me."_

Dreamer glanced at Wanderer before ascending the stairs up towards the second cabin, giving him a resolute and determined look before they lost sight of each other. Some of the ropes around his head were burned, but not enough to get him free, and a hunter holding his snout down prevented him from doing more. He was looking back at Dreamer with trust in his eyes, knowledge that he would get them out.

Which he would. He just needed the right opportunity, when everyone had relaxed their guards a bit… Unlike before they developed their fire, he really wasn't concerned now. Viggo likely didn't know just how versatile it really was.

_"__Dragon fire has some unique properties I doubt even you're aware of,"_ Viggo said conversationally, freakishly matching Dreamer's thoughts. He opened the door to the smaller cabin and stood in the threshold a moment, then backed out and closed the door again. _"__My ancestors found a particularly unlikely use, though I know not how, and made this."_

Dreamer was forgetting himself in genuine intrigue now, staring at the cylindrical device and simple bag being shown to him. Viggo drew something out of the bag and held it up, a hexagonal piece with a clear centre. _"__These are the keys to using it, difficult to track down and harder to read, but with the right dragon…"_

He slotted it into the cylinder, then pointed one end at Dreamer. _"__Don't worry, it's perfectly harmless,"_ he said reassuringly as Dreamer flinched, _"__but if you would… light your mouth?"_ He chuckled. _"__I must confess this is as strange to me, I am obviously unaccustomed to asking."_

_Hrrr,_ just hold his fire in his mouth? The end of the device facing him featured a small glass circle surrounded by runed plates. The other end was pointed at what appeared to be Viggo's own cabin, so it was unlikely to be a weapon, however such a thing would work… Despite the situation, Dreamer was dreadfully curious.

He cracked open his mouth and prepared his plasma, but didn't let any out; he was low enough on it already, and he still needed to do something about everyone else. The blue glow lit the deck around him, a brief whistle all the protest it made as he held it back, a sound that quickly faded into a quiet passive hum..

But he was much more focused on what suddenly appeared across the wall of the cabin, so absorbed that only the wobbling images alerted him to Viggo tensing in surprise. Where his fire shone through the device, it focused the blue light into startlingly clear pictures and symbols of totally foreign design. The pictures were simple, and yet the closer he looked the more detail seemed to present itself.

The picture in the middle was a dragon, one he had never seen before and that didn't even resemble anything in the Book of Dragons. It had horns protruding from its nose and chin and generally looked stocky, with a thick neck and short tail. Its teeth were bared, but there was something different between them and its claws, despite being about the same size…

The images flicked away from the wall as the lens was swapped for another from the bag, apparently having been handed to the hunter so Viggo could get a closer look, while Dreamer stared at the device in fascination.

A different set of images now, of a Gronckle. This time he focused on the surrounding symbols, though they similarly seemed to have details hidden within details, difficult to see with the minute unsteadiness of the device being held by hand.

Dreamer had never had so many questions about something. He might have more questions about this one device than he'd ever-

Surprised shouting from behind him snapped him back to reality. _"__Someone ge' a torch!"_ one of the hunters shouted gruffly.

_"__They ain't 'ere!"_ another voice shouted back even as Dreamer turned to look, closing off his fire in the process…

Darkness. The torches on the rail had burned out, plunging the deck back into darkness. The whole _ship_ into darkness.

_What am I doing!?_ Dreamer dodged around the steering wheel and dove over the rail, landing on one of the hunters pinning Wanderer and driving him firmly into the deck. His wing took a second in the side of the head, the sheer force knocking him unconscious even through his helmet, and his tail swept the legs out from under the third and then slammed into his gut.

Wanderer rolled and Dreamer used a stream of fire to cut through the netting tangled around his paws – a shout pricked his ears, and he fired at the net launcher without a second thought, reducing it to splinters.

That done, he grabbed the net in his teeth and tugged it off, and Wanderer let out a bellowing roar of _defiance_ before leaping back into the renewed fray, firing on the second net launcher before tackling the two hunters trying to force Stormfly into a cage.

Confusion and blindness once again prevailed, with all Viggo's surprises expended. The blazing torches had even done a better job than Stormfly's and Hookfang's fire in blinding the hunters with the sudden darkness, while the riders had already freed themselves and were working on their dragons.

While everything was in paw, Dreamer wanted something.

He spun and leaped back up to the second level, quickly noticing a complete lack of Viggo. He had to be around somewhere, but it would be dangerous to go looking for him when he was expecting them. That wasn't what he wanted anyway, and with a bit of luck…

The other hunter was still blundering around the upper deck, clutching something in a meaty hand, a cylinder and a bag. His eyes were already wide and bordering on frightened, looking around Dreamer but failing to rest on him.

Maybe this could be handled more carefully. Dreamer bared his teeth and let his fire light his mouth again, only for a moment, giving the hunter what had to be the most frightening image of a dragon anyone had ever seen. He was clearly a Viking, maybe even a Berserker from his appearance, but Dreamer was the offspring of lightning and death itself.

And of course, the only thing a Viking feared was something they couldn't swing an axe at. Dreamer smirked as the items were dropped in favour of a sword and shield, and snatched them in his claws before leaping into the sky.

The speed at which the riders were working was impressive, they were all already free again and were working on the last few cages on the beach, so he just observed from above just in case there really _was_ something else Viggo had up his sleeve.

What, exactly, had gone wrong? For starters, the hunters had been prepared for a night ambush, with those strange torches. Had Viggo somehow harnessed Spine-Tail fire? Dreamer drifted down to get a look at where the fires had been burning, noting the little canisters attached to the rail. They had to be in a place that could be reached to light them, and were distinctive enough to spot now he knew what to look for.

Drifting over the ship, he happened to get a look at the side of the cabin where he'd fired at it and noticed a dull glint of metal through the hole. That was another part of it, they had reinforced the part of the ship that had been hit last time. Using the same tactics over and over would not work against these hunters.

The net launchers were another matter… Dreamer wheeled around as torches were finally located and lit, hunters surveying the damage and beginning to clear debris, including that of the mounted weapons that had emerged from the hold. There had been a _lot_ of force in the net that hit him, they would be capable of firing well into the air.

That they had been hidden in advance and somehow lifted onto the deck was not how they would normally be used, this had been prepared in advance for this specific situation. They had to have guessed they would be attacked sailing so close to the Nest's territory, and prepared countermeasures. To be of any use on the water, however, such launchers would need to be mounted on the deck in plain sight.

But there might be other surprises, other traps. He had met Viggo twice, and both times he had felt he was on someone else's territory; metaphorically as well as physically. Viggo always seemed to be the one in control.

At that, he was still on the island. This could be an excellent opportunity…

"Wanderer," Dreamer barked, and his friend dropped down from where he and the riders had been circling above. "You still have fire?"

"Yes," Wanderer chuffed. "I shoot where you shot?"

Not this time, the rudder could be rigged up with ropes; awkward, but possible. He wanted the ship landbound and requiring extensive repairs. "Shoot its nose. Use all your fire, we leave after." All except that last shot, but that was unspoken.

"Hrrr, yes," Wanderer agreed, then climbed for some height to dive from.

The hunters had to be getting tired of hearing this rising screech by now, it had to play Hel on morale. Every time they heard it, something was about to explode, and they were powerless to stop it; it was very strange to be on this end of the 'hide and pray it does not find you' warning.

The 'something' in this case was the prow of the ship, the bolt of fire striking where the deck met the thick beam that held the front of the ship together. _Had_ held the front of the ship together, most of it was now laying in the sand.

_"__Oh man,"_ Snotlout exclaimed as they rose up to meet the wheeling riders, _"__that was so _satisfying!_I don't know why you guys don't blow stuff up more often."_

_"__Tell me about it!"_ Ruffnut agreed enthusiastically.

Dreamer warbled thoughtfully as they angled for the Nest. He remembered the satisfaction of destruction, slashing at trees with a toy sword, and… actually, watching Wanderer smash apart catapults had been just viscerally _exciting_ in a way nothing else could be. But now, he didn't have that feeling, that desire to destroy, to dismantle.

_Hrrr,_ though humans were incredibly fragile creatures, in and of themselves. They didn't simply live in the world around them like everything else, they needed to beat it into submission just to survive. Perhaps those instincts stemmed from that need.

He took a breath of the cool night air and glanced back at the island, at the faint light on the shore that was fading into the distance behind them. Viggo wasn't just going to give up, but at least he was stuck here while they repaired their ship, and while they repaired they couldn't hunt. They _would_ probably still leave with a hold of dragons, but the ship would be as vulnerable as ever once it started sailing again. The net launchers were both in ruins, and if they timed their attack at dawn again the strange bright torches would still be useless.

Either way, they weren't going anywhere soon. There was plenty of time to fly home, rest, replenish their fire, and return; even if they missed the departure by a whole day, it would be easy to find on the water.

* * *

Fishlegs hadn't been able to sleep on the flight back. It didn't matter how knackered he was, though he himself had done precious little during the raid, it was how his backside hurt from being sat in the saddle for so long and of course there was the surrounding darkness trying to suck out his soul.

He couldn't see anything at all! Why couldn't the sky have remained nice and clear for the whole flight? For all he knew they were moments from crashing into a mountain and falling to their deaths. Of course, he trusted his Meatlug, but a blade at your throat was unnerving regardless of who held it.

Logically, he knew descending meant that they were finally home, which was cause for celebration, but it was also another unknown that-

He was jolted in the saddle as Meatlug touched down. "Land!" he exclaimed, sliding out and running up to hug the doorframe.

…Not the doorframe of his hut, he quickly noticed as Hiccup lit the fire, but the communal hut. "Light!" he exclaimed, suddenly uncaring, and ran inside to warm his hands by the flames.

Hiccup barked to get his attention, walking around the table on his hindlegs. The reason for that became clear when he set a bag and a weird metal cylinder on the table. It was a beautifully crafted thing, with a glass piece at each end, etched with the likeness of scales, and a dragon's head held the larger glass end in its open mouth.

"Uhhh… You take that from the hunters or something?"

_"__Yes,"_ Hiccup chuffed happily, then fumbled with the device to pull out a hexagonal component with a glass lens set into the middle, which dropped to the table.

"...What is it?" Fishlegs asked, picking up the lens and inspecting it closely. It was like nothing he'd ever seen, lighter than he'd expected, and without any sign of imperfection or damage.

_"__Hrrr, not know. See."_ The Fury teased another hexagonal lens out of the bag and gestured to Fishlegs, who slotted it into the same place, then arranged it on the table and leaned down behind it, mouth lighting up with a blue glow.

Fishlegs frowned. "Is it supposed to be doing something?" All that seemed to be happening was there was light shining through it.

Hiccup pointed with a wing, and Fishlegs turned… and dropped the lens. He glanced at where it had hit the floor, but decided it could wait.

Words failed him, all he could get out was something of a drawn-out squeak as he approached the images on the wall, stepping aside so that his shadow wasn't in the way. "Is that a Speed Stinger?" he finally managed. It was a simple image, but it had all the dragon's features in precise detail. To scale, even, he noticed as he pored over it, something most people didn't bother with.

But the very design of it all… something about it struck him as familiar, and it took him a little while to work out what it was. "Hiccup," he said quietly, "remember when… someone we knew would occasionally show me plans for something? Drawings of how something was going to work? This… This looks a lot like one of those."

The bright blue light died off, returning the room to a warm orange glow, and Fishlegs spun to find Hiccup panting lightly. _"__Not can breathe like that,"_ he explained.

"Wait, really? Oh, wait, that makes sense. Like trying to breathe while swallowing, I guess."

_"__Not much like that,"_ he huffed. _"__Hunter alpha say his kin make this, much time past. I think they use this for hunting, tell them about dragons, make hunts easier. I was thinking I show all these, but holding fire is hard. Want show you this one."_

But Fishlegs was thinking about something else. "Do you think…" He watched as Hiccup teased the dropped lens out from under the table. "Do you think there's one on Night Furies?"

Hiccup froze, ears going up and eyes narrowing to slits. Abandoning the lens on the floor, he then lunged for the sack and started clawing out its contents.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Fishlegs exclaimed, running for the dragon. "They might be fragile! Here, I'll do it." Hiccup grumbled while the lenses were clumsily swapped out, then hastily lit his mouth with a brief Night Fury screech.

While Fishlegs was achingly curious himself about if there was anything on Night Furies, he was still highly interested when a Monstrous Nightmare illuminated the wall. "Hey!" he shouted when the projection cut off after only a few seconds, but Hiccup just grunted at him and impatiently pawed at the remaining lenses. "Okay, fine…" He grabbed another and swapped them over.

There was a dragon that wasn't in the Book of Dragons, a stocky thing with lots of pointy bits, and then a Zippleback was the last lens in the back.

"Sorry to get your hopes up," Fishlegs commiserated, scratching around Hiccup's ears.

He looked downcast, disappointed, but then his ears lifted a little. _"__Hunter alpha say he find these,"_ he pawed at the bag of lenses, _"__maybe we find more… We still not have Spine-Tail."_

"Yeah, that's the spirit! We can ask Johann, he's likely to know. Or, maybe we could track down some of the inhabited islands around here, they might know something too."

_"__Yes…"_ He was hopeful, but he didn't look all that convinced. Fishlegs understood, Night Furies were just so rare, what were the chances of there being a lens for them at all? _"__Here, I want show you this one."_ He dropped to the floor and nosed at the lens still laying there.

"Oh, yeah, that one!" He had a suspicion of what was on it, and wouldn't waste time with questions.

With the lens slotted, Hiccup lit his mouth and the proud image of a Gronckle was displayed on the wall. Fishlegs breathed heavily as he approached for a closer look, running his hand under some of the images and watching them play over his skin.

This was a great lens to start with, he already knew a _lot_ about Gronckles which would help him deconstruct these strange symbols, and…

There was something about the outline of the Gronckle too… His jaw went slack. "Hiccup… This diagram details the composition of a Gronckle's hide. I mean, like, really details it. The outer scale, the softer middle layer, the tougher deep layer, and then the growth layer… It's all here. These aren't just drawings… They're… This is all of it."

He looked back at the Night Fury, who let the light in his mouth die off to take several deep breaths. "This changes everything."

* * *

Wanderer levelled his nose to a slight change in the wind, happy to be flying and more so to be flying fast, but still feeling a little sullen for some reason.

He would much rather be doing this than sitting there with his fire in his mouth so that Fish-Legs and usually also Dreamer could gawk at the marks it made on the wall. This, however, was not flying for fun. These first cycles of having their fire they were supposed to be exercising their freedom to do as they wished, no sires or dams to tell them not to sleep all night and stay up all day, or scold them for rolling in mud and letting it bake dry under the sky-fire.

He didn't really have much of a desire to do any of that himself, given he had already done as much once before, but Dreamer had not had such an experience and therefore should. It was the principle of the thing.

He snorted. Dreamer grew bored far too quickly to be content with that life for long; it was equal parts admirable and frustrating.

While he himself would rather be goofing around and just exploring, it was a mild preference that was the sub-wing to Dreamer's drive. His own happiness was important of course, but that was tied heavily to Dreamer's, and he _did_ want to help the wing-hunters these Long-Paws were hurting for no real reason.

A growl rolled through his throat at the thought of the hunters. Predators hunted prey, it was the way of life, but these hunters were drawing out their kill, playing with their prey long after it had been caught. It was a cruelty that sickened him and made him just want to rid the world of such creatures. With the small-land now in sight, it was tempting to just open fire on them and be done with it, rather than fly all the way here every light to check for when they were leaving so they could free any _more_ wing-hunters they'd taken in the meantime.

The fury simmered beneath his scales, urging him to attack and tear the danger apart… but he trusted Dreamer to know what he was doing. Perhaps had Dreamer not experienced being hunted and trapped by Long-Paws himself it would be different, but Wanderer trusted him to know what was best when it came to Long-Paws.

The sight of the empty beach snapped him from his thoughts; the hunters were no longer there. His head pivoted to scan the sea but there was no sign of them.

He had been here himself last light, the big tree at the front of the ship had still been lying in the sand. It was _still_ lying in the sand, they must have made another or something. He growled at himself and flapped a bit harder to pick up speed and work off his frustration.

But this was a ship, and like the Long-Paws themselves it was dreadfully slow. They could not make it far enough in a single light to evade him, and it took no time at all to find the big shape floating in the water.

Excitement burned in his chest, here was a way to vent some of his frustration without flying against what they'd been trying to do here. His wings continued powering him forwards, taking him above the ship, before folding and dropping him into a dive.

The place Dreamer had struck featured a spindly protrusion that had, until his sound-sight started building, had a Long-Paw standing in front of it, that must be the target. He let his fire build in his throat, preparing a shot that was probably larger than necessary, and released it at a safe height before levelling off.

Glancing back, he watched it take a large bite out of the ship, then purred in satisfaction at the thought of the hunters within it cowering in fear; they, at least, would know not to hunt Nightstrikers. Personally, he thought he should just blow the whole thing apart and be done with the hunter alpha for good, that one was nothing but trouble, but while he would discuss it with Dreamer it would be both their decision. One would have to convince the other; he was fairly sure his clever Dreamer would win him over, but it wouldn't stop him bringing up valid thoughts.

He turned tail to fly back to the nest, trying to envisage Dreamer's response to the suggestion of killing the hunter alpha and come up with counter-arguments.

As he flew, he realised that he had done more thinking since they'd hatched again than he had in his life before then. He buried his thoughts for a moment to appreciate that with a long purr. Long-Paws were so dangerous because they could think – _wwrrr,_ and also that there were just so _many_ of them – but there wasn't much in a Nightstriker's life that _needed_ thinking much about. Judging conditions to be comfortable or not was about as complicated as it got, including deciding if another Nightstriker was good company.

He hadn't really been given much of a chance to think like this before. There were no big decisions to make while a fledgling and part of a proper family, and then he had not wanted to think after that. Maybe, living in the jaws of the massive thought-controlling queen had just been his way of escaping that.

Everything was all so much better now. He didn't feel his thinking was being squashed – quite the opposite, he felt he had to sprint to keep up – and he and Dreamer were entirely equals, even more so than before.

Why hadn't he tried talking to Dreamer before hatching again? It seemed an obvious thing to do _now,_ but at the time he just hadn't considered it. He hadn't actually done much talking at all since leaving his family, other wing-hunters did not typically use words; mainly to teach their hatchlings, and when required to seek help for something specific.

Looking back, it was as if he'd been sleeping his whole life, and his currently rapidly growing mind was only part of that.

He shook his head and focused on the flight, digging up the discussion he would be having with Dreamer again about the hunter alpha as he cut through the air with a quiet purr.

* * *

The ship came into view for the second time that light, though it was moving much more slowly this time. Wanderer looked it over warily, there was something going on with the hole he had blasted open but it didn't look like they'd finished fixing the tail-fin-thing yet. Evidently not, by how slowly they were moving.

He listened to Astrid relay the plan, the usual except that this time they would be hunting for the hunter alpha, probably grabbing him in claws and carrying him back to the small-land. Dreamer would talk to him through Fish-Legs, and decide what to do with him from there.

Not quite what Wanderer wanted – he'd rather just kill the alpha – but this was reasonable. He might simply have bad thinking that could be fixed, or maybe he wanted something else.

There was something Dreamer wasn't telling him about it though, some thinking he did not want to put to words, but Wanderer couldn't think what it might be.

It didn't matter. They were descending on the ship with the sun behind them, only a paltry few Long-Paws visible on it. Of course, the Rock-Scale's loud wings gave them away long before they reached it, but it wasn't enough time for any defences to be prepared.

They swept over the ship, the Nightstrikers landing on the raised part with the usual sounds of injured hunters coming from below. There was only one Long-Paw up here with them, who wouldn't be a problem after Wanderer's fangs tasted its leg and Dreamer pounced it, and then they turned on the door to the small cave.

With a glance to check they were both ready for it, Dreamer fired on the door and it disappeared, revealing…

Nobody.

Dreamer warbled in confusion, then leaped over and stuck his head around the door to scent inside. "He not here," he said dejectedly.

_"__Toothy! Hiccup!"_ Astrid's voice perked their ears and turned their heads. _"__There's no dragons here!"_

_"__Don' feel bad,"_ the nearby hunter chuckled tensely, wheezing and gripping his leg. _"__Tha's jus' the boss for yeh. Ain' nobody smarter than 'im."_

_Says you,_ Wanderer thought proudly, even though the current situation did not favour that opinion; he growled at the hunter regardless.

Dreamer walked to the edge and growled over the water, towards the small-land, then leaped into the air and beat his wings hard.

Wanderer followed, as he was the only one who _could_ at this speed. "Go back to nest," he roared back to the Long-Paws at the last moment, before pumping his wings hard to catch up; he was still faster than Dreamer, of course.

They quickly arrived at the small-land, and Dreamer pulled up above it, over the mountains that almost split it in half. His keen gaze looked down over it, though Wanderer knew not what he was looking for, then they were diving again towards where it met the water.

Dreamer alighted on a beach, the opposite side of the small-land to where the ship had been, and Wanderer landed a little way ahead of him. "What you thinking?" he asked, uncertain.

A thoughtful hum was his only answer while Dreamer looked around, occasionally bounding to a new place to stand on his hindlegs or scent something. After a short time of this, he pawed at a long groove in the sand… then slashed it, sending a spray of sand into the air. "I stupid," he snarled.

Wanderer growled at him, for saying something so stupid, but otherwise waited for him to explain.

"We see ship, we watch it. But they have ship here also." His tail lashed furiously behind him, kicking up more sand. "They left here nights before now. Also take dragons with them. He know! Hunter alpha _know_ we do this, he…"

At a calm bark from Wanderer, Dreamer closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You not do this," Wanderer reminded him, "rotted hunters do this."

"I know," Dreamer said quietly, sitting on his haunches to take another deep breath, relaxing his shoulders and straightening his posture.

_Calm, safe,_ Wanderer purred, walking forward and giving his Dreamer a brief nuzzle.

When Dreamer opened his eyes again, they were still narrow, but not as narrow as the angry slits they had been before. _Determined, gratitude,_ he purred back, then walked down the beach and stared out over the water. "Yes. We just need be better."

* * *

A confused and questioning growl, accompanied by the rhythmic clicking of claws on the wooden floorboards, took a few moments to pry Fishlegs' attention from the wall. "Hiccup!" he greeted the Fury enthusiastically, rushing over to him with the intention of pulling him over to the wall but finding a lack of much to really grab hold of and his mouth was hanging open a bit which was unsurprising given how _awesome_ this was but it was showing his teeth which looked rather dangerous and made him think better of it-

"Come see!" he exclaimed instead, running back to the wall and running his hands under the shapes projected onto it, which was really a fascinating thing as it was like there was writing on the wall but when he put his hand there the writing was on the back of his hand instead of his hand over the writing-

His thoughts were all over the place but he was just so _excited_ because he'd found-

"Dark Deep!" he cheered, pointing at the images that appeared crudely drawn but were actually highly detailed that surrounded the Gronckle displayed on the wall.

Hiccup seemed more interested in Meatlug and the device they'd taken from the hunters. _"__Not need Nightstriker fire for this?"_ he warbled, closely inspecting the cylindrical device.

"Who cares about that!?" Fishlegs shouted. "This is Dark Deep! The ancestral home of the Gronckles! Bork was really brave when it came to sailing out of the Archipelago in the name of knowledge, but he couldn't navigate to save his life." He paused, furrowing his brow. "…Actually, maybe sailing all over the place and running into dragons everywhere wasn't by choice."

Hiccup barked a laugh – but they were off-topic! Fishlegs frantically waved his hands to get them back on course. "That doesn't matter! Hiccup, do you know what this means!?"

_"…__We know where we can find many Rock-Scales?"_

"No! Well, yes, but this is a chance to see Gronckles living in their original habitat! We might find more evolutionary deviants, like the Speed Stingers, o-o-or maybe-" Fishlegs ran over to Hiccup to stare him directly in the face, "-a _Titan Wing Gronckle…_ Hey, it could happen! There's plenty of evidence Titan Wings exist, and that was _before_ the Speed Stingers came along with their Titan Wing alphas."

_"__Can be… Alpha-Wing if not have wings?"_ Hiccup warbled thoughtfully. _"__But Fire-Scale alpha in warm-nest was Alpha-Wing."_

"WHAT!?" Fishlegs shouted, the word coming out much more shrilly than he would have liked and actually waking Meatlug, who glanced around, stopped, tilted her head in confusion, then chewed on the lava dripping from her mouth. "…Sorry girl," he said gently, "everything's fine, you can go back to your nap."

_"__I not say that?"_ Hiccup mumbled abashedly.

"You don't say anything anymore," Fishlegs grumbled, his exuberance suddenly boiling into aggravation. _"__Everything_ I know about Night Furies, I know from observation. The only thing you really told me was when you get your fire, and the first I hear about that being _wrong_ was Toothy blowing Alvin to pieces, and the first I see of it is you firing it at my feet. I've been dropping hints, but are you _really_ going to make me ask about it?"

He didn't know where this was coming from, and Hiccup was looking remorseful, but the flood gates were open and there was no closing them. "Do you have any idea how much work I put into the new Book of Dragons? Did you even look at it? I thought you of all people would be interested, but I guess it's nothing you don't already know, right? Nothing you couldn't have just told me from the start." That wasn't really the issue, as the work had been enjoyable, but he was riled.

"I mean, hey, never mind that you've literally met a _Titan Wing_, something that hasn't yet been documented well enough to be sure they even _exist,_ why would I want to know about that? And I get that you've been secretive about how," Fishlegs gestured to the Fury, "how _this_ happened in the first place, but come on, I don't even know how much you know about it. What else don't I know about? I don't even know enough to know what questions I should be asking!"

A quiet whimper cut off Fishlegs' tirade, and he felt himself slump back into his usual posture. "Sorry, I just…" He just what? _I thought we were friends,_ his mind supplied, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. Hiccup looked tiny, somehow appearing to have shrunk significantly, and was glancing up with wide, miserable eyes.

"Oh Thor, you can drop the kicked puppy act," Fishlegs groaned apologetically; such intelligent and deadly dragons should _not_ be this impossibly cute. "I just, you're our friend, okay? I just hope we're your friends too…"

_"__Yes,"_ Hiccup replied with some determination. _"__I not have friends before…"_ Fishlegs felt his stomach drop a little. _"__I want keep them now."_

"I… didn't really mean any of that," Fishlegs said quietly, nervously scratching his face. "I don't even really know why I was mad."

_"__But you right,"_ Hiccup hummed. _"__I do better."_ He then staggered as Meatlug licked him, throwing his wings out and hopping to his paws. _"__Maybe I be your friend also?"_ he crooned at Meatlug.

_"__Yes, friends!"_ she agreed in her gravelly voice, startling both of them.

"You know, sometimes I forget she can talk," Fishlegs admitted sheepishly.

_"__I also,"_ Hiccup agreed.

"Hey… Random question… When you introduced yourself to Viggo, you gave your dragon name. I mean, we kind of named you before we knew… anything… but would you rather we call you that too?"

Hiccup chuffed. _"__I not mind, you friends. It… Hrrr… Think if hunter alpha call you 'fish'."_

He imagined Viggo calling his name. Ominous, and gave him the chills. Then he imagined Viggo calling him by his nickname-

"Oh yeah that would be really weird," he agreed. "Okay, fair."

They stood there in awkward silence for a few moments.

_"…__Want go to… 'Dark-Far'?"_

"Dark whuh?" Fishlegs blurted out before he could connect the dots. "Oh-! Dark Deep!" Dragons must not have a word for 'deep'. "Is the sky blue?" he asked sarcastically.

_"__Hrrr, I think it cloudy this light,"_ Hiccup mused with a cheeky grin. _"__Tuffnut, Ruffnut!" _he suddenly barked.

Twin thumps accompanied by grunts of surprise could be heard from outside, and the troublemakers appeared around the door a moment later. "Hey guys, what's up?" Tuffnut asked slowly.

Fishlegs quelled his rising worry with logic; Hiccup wasn't worried, so he wouldn't be either. They had probably arrived after his tirade.

Hiccup promptingly tilted his head at Fishlegs, a small grin on his face. "Oh, er, well, the hunter's device thing told me where to find Dark Deep," he said, feeling his enthusiasm rising again. "Ancestral home of the Gronckles, their original habitat! Ooh I can't wait!"

Ruffnut took a breath, but Tuffnut spoke first. "Oh, yeah, count us _out._ That sounds like… secrets and stuff, but like, the kind you gotta go look for."

"Ugh, those are the worst," Ruffnut agreed.

"Right!?" Tuffnut shouted at her. "Like, you don't even know what you're looking for, and then maybe you find it but maybe you don't even know it's a secret, or maybe you gotta find loads of little secrets that add up to one big secret, and before you know it you're scrawling dolphins on the walls but nobody's ever seen a dolphin so they don't even look like dolphins they look like _secrets."_

There was deafening silence as everyone, including Ruffnut, stared blankly at him.

"So…" he continued slowly, "on a completely unrelated boat, where will you be leaving that hunter doodad while you're gone…?"

"You don't have to bail on such an awesome discovery for that," Fishlegs grumbled. "You can mess around with it when I'm done with it."

"Yeah," Ruffnut said in her sweet gravelly voice, "but we're hoping for some time sooner than Ragnarok. You guys go geek out or whatever." The pair then ducked away.

Fishlegs scratched his head, then picked up the hunter's device from where it was propped on Meatlug's slab and set it on his desk. "Might as well make it easy for them to find, they're only going to trash everything otherwise. When do you want to leave?"

_"__I just get my things,"_ Hiccup chuffed, then turned in a circle, stood on his hindlegs to scratch his belly, and gave himself a shake. _"__I good, we can go now."_

About three seconds was all the flat staring Fishlegs could manage before he melted with an exclamation of excitement; it seemed the world was dragging on him today, but this was much too big to pull his mood down from. "Just think Hiccup, Dark Deep! Meatlug, we'll get to see where your ancestors originated from!" The Gronckle wagged excitedly, giving him a big grin. "Let's see, I'm going to need notebooks…"

In the time it took him to grab a few necessities, he was taking to the air on the back of Meatlug to join the two Night Furies wheeling in the sky above, and then they were on their way. Astrid and Snotlout must not have been interested in coming either, as Hiccup had said he was going to check with them; that was their loss.

_"__We happy for answer questions,"_ Hiccup crooned as they fell into a close formation, _"__but you say you not know what ask. I try tell you things."_ He suddenly started building a shot and held it, Fishlegs covering his ears at the unexpected screeching. _"__This sound, also sound when we dive, let us see. Not use eyes, can see with sound."_

Fishlegs sank into the saddle in disbelief. "Wait, you can _see_ with _sound!?"_ He was a _little_ bitter Hiccup hadn't thought to tell him about this before now, but it took the off-hand to just how _crazy_ it was. "So _that's_ why I could never work out the conditions to make it, you guys were choosing when… Can you turn your head and see how many fingers I'm holding up?" He held a fist up, ready to experiment.

_"__Not see that well,"_ Hiccup grumbled.

_"__Unless do this,"_ Toothy supplied, then opened his mouth-

A _deafening_ note nearly knocked Fishlegs off of Meatlug and left his ears ringing. "Ow…" he groaned, his own voice sounding to him as if he was underwater. Hiccup and Toothy were engaged in a rapid discussion, one Fishlegs was not privy to half because of his ringing ears and half because Hiccup was facing the other way.

Some time later, after his ears had stopped aching, Hiccup crooned sheepishly at him. _"__I not know we could do that. I try later. That use fire, but see very far."_

"I guess we're all learning something," Fishlegs replied, dazed. "It's a wonder it doesn't knock you out, given how _loud_ it is." Hiccup hummed thoughtfully at that. "It uses your fire? So, you explode it in your mouth… or something?"

Both Furies winced; yeah that sounded like a really bad thing to do. _"__I explain our fire,"_ Hiccup warbled.

It was only moments into the explanation that Fishlegs was wishing he'd brought more notebooks.

* * *

The long flight passed Fishlegs by in no time, thanks to learning vastly more about Night Furies than any human had ever known ever – though Hiccup still remained guarded about how he'd actually become a dragon – and a craggy, jagged island appeared in the distance, exactly where the hunter's device said it would be.

"Look Hiccup, Dark Deep, it's gotta be!" Fishlegs exclaimed, hastily scrawling down where they'd got to on how Furies used their sub-wings in flight before stashing the notebook and leaning forward over Meatlug's head.

With every moment came a new observation. The island was large, first of all, and seemed composed entirely of a very dark rock. There wasn't a scrap of greenery to be found on it, the whole place was just desolate wasteland, perfect habitat for rock-munching boulder-crushing dragons. The twin peaks of a single mountain rose from the far side, and absolutely massive stone spires speared out from the coast towards its steep cliffs.

Fishlegs couldn't touch down fast enough, his feet thumping into the hard ground before Meatlug's paws. "Can you believe it?" he shouted to everybody and nobody, then picked up a nearby rock and tossed it to his dragon. "How does it feel to be eating a piece of home?" he asked her, and she wagged back at him enthusiastically as she crunched it up.

He immediately began cataloguing information; the shape of the island, the consistency and features of the rocks, the atmosphere, anything he thought might be relevant. In theory, this should be the Gronckle's perfect habitat, the one they were originally suited to, and he wanted to understand everything about it.

"Well, I can understand why you guys eat rocks," he mumbled after a while.

_"__Not much here,"_ Hiccup agreed, looking around warily. _"__No Rock-Scales also..."_

"None that we can see," Fishlegs corrected, walking to a nearby crevasse and peering inside. Not only were there signs of boulder-class dragons inside, but there was a group of Gronckles picking through the rocks littering the smooth ground. "See?"

The Gronckles jumped and spun to face him, backing up. "No no no, it's okay," he said soothingly, holding his hands out. Meatlug appearing by his side to look down seemed to help a little. "What do you say girl," he asked her quietly, "want to make some friends?"

He hopped onto her back and they dropped through the narrow opening, Meatlug softening the landing with a short burst of her wings. It was an odd sort of crevasse, more like a round tunnel with an open top, the rock arching up over him but not meeting in the middle. He noticed the Furies slipping in after him, but he kept his eyes on the Gronckles, who were quickly backing up and retreating down the tunnel. "Hey, wait up!"

Pursuing them was only likely to scare them more, but what were they even scared of? They were Gronckles, they weren't aggressive dragons but nor were they timid. Mostly they were just indifferent.

Wary rumbling between the Furies gave him pause, and soon he felt it himself. Heard it too, but while a distant rumbling was ominous enough in such a long and rounded crevasse, feeling it through the soles of his shoes was far more worrying. Whatever it was, whether one entity or many, it was very heavy. "Erm, I'm thinking maybe we should get out of here?"

The Furies darted around him, heading after the Gronckles, and Fishlegs shared a look with Meatlug while hurrying after him.

"Hiccup…!" he called ahead, looking around for some nook to hide in, as the ominous rumbling gradually intensified. Something was approaching, and very likely through this passage, but there didn't seem to be any way out or anywhere to hide; the walls were mostly smooth, and the gap at the top was too narrow to fly up through.

Whatever it was, it was coming from behind them, and gaining fast. Running was too slow – he vaulted into the saddle and tugged gently on Meatlug's ears, prompting her to take off and trust him not to crash them into anything.

He wished he'd taken Astrid's lessons more seriously, flying through the forest, though the path was long and clear-

An odd sound joined the rumbling, sounding like a muted bellowing. Fishlegs' heart raced, this was feeling less like a natural hazard and more like something bearing down on them.

A darkness slid into view ahead, an irregularity in the rock that could only be a side tunnel. The Gronckles, still running but just ahead of him, turned into it and disappeared from sight, quickly followed by the Furies. Their dark heads poked out a moment later, one above the other-

Twin streaks of light lanced past him, startling him which caused Meatlug to veer wildly around the chamber as explosions sounded behind him. The look of surprise on the Furies' faces did not bode well.

Fishlegs threw a reticent glance over his own shoulder, then urged Meatlug forwards, away from whatever was filling the tunnel behind him.

They crashed into the wall of the passage, trying to take the turn too fast, and bounced off to the ground. Fishlegs scrambled to his feet just as quickly as his dragon, peering around the corner-

He hastily withdrew his head as a giant boulder rolled past, the rumbling suddenly very loud as it passed before quieting…

Fishlegs shared a look with Hiccup as the sound rapidly died off into silence, and they peered around the other corner, the direction the boulder had gone.

It rolled to a halt as they watched, twenty paces from the corridor, and Hiccup made an odd sound somewhere between confusion and concern. Fishlegs made a similar sound as the boulder started rolling back towards them.

The passage they were in was not nearly so refined, more jagged. The boulder, or whatever it was, would not fit inside, but Fishlegs did not feel all that safe as he backed into it.

The boulder rolled into sight, and right as he noticed the uniform patterns across the plated exterior, and the spines jutting out at the sides, it _unfurled_.

"It's a dragon," Fishlegs said incredulously with a slack jaw. A very big, very spiky, and very angry dragon, one growling at him specifically. "I don't think it's friendly!"

It _roared,_ the sound deafening in the mostly enclosed area, and the fact that its lower jaw had split into two halves was almost fascinating enough to distract Fishlegs from the imminent mauling it clearly wanted to give him. It ignored the Furies roaring back at it and advanced menacingly, its tail thumping into the sides of the tunnel and breaking apart the rock as if it was nothing.

Hiccup knocked into Fishlegs' side, spurring him into the fleeing he should have been doing already. "We need to get out of here!" he shouted as he ran. The Gronckles were no longer anywhere to be seen, having fled while they stood around to gawk.

Without any discernible communication, Hiccup and Toothy both fired at the ceiling some way ahead of them at once, creating an opening they _might_ just fit through. The thumping footsteps following them lent Fishlegs a little more speed and confidence in jumping back onto Meatlug and preparing for a daring manoeuvre.

The Furies had no trouble, leaping up one after the other with a small flap in the confined quarters to grab the ledge and slither out of sight. Despite the situation, it was close enough to ascending from the hold of a ship that Fishlegs felt in strangely familiar territory as he guided his dragon by her ears. They lifted into the air, then twisted and briefly stilled her wings-

Meatlug yelped as she was _yanked_ out, nearly throwing Fishlegs out of the saddle but giving him an excellent but brief view of the three jaws snapping together where they had been a moment ago.

He and the three dragons tumbled over each other to the ground, then shared brief looks before staring at the crevasse; such a big dragon could not get through such a small gap, but boulder class dragons weren't usually impeded by rock.

Heavy footsteps picked up, impossible to tell the direction of, and then that transitioned into a smoother rumbling that faded into the distance.

_"__We not should stay here,"_ Hiccup advised as Fishlegs breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, you're probably right… But did you _see_ that thing!? I mean for a boulder class dragon its mouth doesn't look that good for crushing rocks, the split jaw is _weird,_ and-"

Hiccup cut him off with a low bark. "Oh, right," Fishlegs muttered; there was a chance it was just finding a way out to get to them. "Well, we should be fine as long as we don't wander into any more caves." There would be plenty to find on the mountains, and he wanted to check out the stone spikes rising from the ground like a giant flower. "…What?" he asked as Hiccup looked uncomfortable.

_"__We use all our fire,"_ the Fury explained.

"Whuh? You only used two shots each!"

_"__Two big shots,"_ Toothy growled. _"__Rock is hard."_

"Oh, yeah, fair point." That was _still_ boggling his mind, that Night Furies could control the strength and thus number of their shots, though there were two limiting factors that separately capped them on count, though there were alternative uses for each that did not depend on the other… And then Toothy had gone on a spiel about, as far as Fishlegs could tell, the _composition_ of the shots, influencing the type of explosion. He was going to be allowed the privilege of sitting in on Hiccup learning it himself, which would additionally be a unique experience of observing a dragon learning their fire, or at least an aspect of it.

But the point was they were now out of fire, so they needed to be careful. "We can check out some more open areas," Fishlegs suggested, looking up to the mountains. "Maybe we can find some more Gronckles."

_"…__Yes, we watch for danger,"_ Hiccup agreed, then spread his wings.

"I'm sure it was just a one-off or something anyway," Fishlegs mused, brushing off the encounter as he climbed back into the saddle; he'd long since grown accustomed to dragons trying to eat or dismember him, and was hoping he'd get a chance to study it under less hostile circumstances.

They met no resistance as they ascended into the air, turning towards the mountain and stone spires. In their natural habitat, would Gronckles prefer a cave, or a ledge on the mountain, or did they sleep in the semi-open tunnels that appeared to cover most of the island? If he found out he could hopefully set something up to make Meatlug more comfortable back at the Nest; not that she wasn't comfortable there already.

He figured he'd check out the stone spires first, watching them as they approached. They were such bizarre things, absolutely _massive_ in size and probably made out of an extremely hard-

Hiccup suddenly swerved ahead of him and forced them off course. It took a few moments for Fishlegs to catch on and start following, letting Hiccup take the lead between the two peaks of the mountain. "What's going on?" he shouted, but the Fury ignored him, flying at a solid pace and occasionally glancing back to ensure Meatlug was keeping up.

Fishlegs looked around, unable to see the big dragon that had chased them, or _any_ other living thing for that matter, but Toothy was also looking around carefully. Ignoring a dragon's caution was folly, but he wished they'd clue him in.

But when they emerged from the valley, hugging the mountain around to the right, Fishlegs drew a sharp breath and stared intently.

A _lot_ of large ships were anchored on the shore, probably somewhere between twenty and thirty, tiny and insignificant in the distance but prominent with their large white sails, even furled. He couldn't see it from so far away, but he was willing to bet anything they bore the hunter's crest.

* * *

_**Author's Notes**_

_One might think I would do another Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy reference in this very important chapter number, but honestly, I totally failed to notice until the last possible moment. Hm? Dolphins? Oh, no, that's not a reference, that's an inside joke with Fizzlemcfuzzle. Which I'm hoping he got, or this is going to be an awkward AN xD  
_


	43. Helping Paw

Wanderer growled down at the many distant ships that had alighted on the Rock-Scale small-land. Long-Paws, hunters, were hauling things onto them, familiar things of metal branches that trapped things inside, _'__cages',_ that likely held Rock-Scales. That would definitely explain why there were so few around, and none in the air.

"We need get closer," Dreamer growled, and Wanderer chuffed in agreement. They were already flying low, so they simply folded their wings and landed on the ledge they were gliding over. "Stay here," Dreamer told Fish-Legs.

Fish-Legs started rocking from side to side. _"__I, but, they, we… Yeah, okay… But come straight back, you guys are out of fire, remember?"_

"Not need tell us," Wanderer grumbled. He had precious little fire left, enough for one decent shot that would get them out of a bind, but nothing to use against these hunters. He couldn't do much either way, there were far too many of them…

The Nightstrikers flew daringly low and fast around the mountain, staying out of sight as much as possible and trusting their dark bodies against the dark rock would not be noticed by the unobservant Long-Paws below. When that became too risky they dropped to the ground and ran, leaping from boulder to ledge until they were directly above their quarry.

They crept over the side of a large, rounded boulder, gripping the rock with their sharp claws, until the whole scene came into view below – a _lot_ of Long-Paw dens, some familiar and some strangely small and soft-looking. There was a lot of shouting, but it didn't appear the hunters had noticed anything, and were just directing each other in their loud, blustering ways.

Wanderer could see _'__carts'_ trundling along towards the ships, loaded up with cages. So many Long-Paw things, most of them used to help them hunt – they were hunting the small-land clean! He couldn't even _begin_ to count the number of Rock-Scales he could see down there, to say nothing of those already in and on the ships.

A resounding bellow that drowned out the distant din had them scanning the ground below, but whatever was causing it wasn't in sight, and the sound soon ceased.

"I not know what we should do," Dreamer said worriedly. "Too many…"

"We come back when night," Wanderer growled. The nights were getting longer, but it was not long past halfway through the light; by the time night fell they would have some fire to use.

But Dreamer hummed _concern, uncertainty._ "I think ships leave this light…"

Wanderer looked to the ships, at the Long-Paws busily swarming over them. That was where much of the shouting was coming from, one big Long-Paw pointing and blustering at the others. Some of the Long-Paw dens were being taken down too, the soft-looking ones just crumpling into a tiny bundle to be tossed into a cart.

"We can stop them leaving?" Wanderer asked; if the prey could not be caught now, trap it until it could be.

Dreamer examined the rock they were clinging to, then looked around, looked up to the giant rock spikes jutting out from the water towards the mountain, and sighed. "I not think our fire strong enough for break rocks on their nest," he said dejectedly. "Too many ships even if we have all our fire…" He looked defeated.

While they watched, the bellowing started back up again, this time much more loudly. The source was now quite visible, one of the giant rock-hunters that had chased them earlier, firmly bound to a cart on its own. It rocked the cart side to side, roaring angrily, while one of the Long-Paws hit the ground with a big rock on a stick. Every time it struck the ground, the rock-hunter flinched and jerked away, until it went quiet and still again and the Long-Paw stopped.

"We need help them," Dreamer murmured.

"How?" Wanderer asked. "What we need do?"

"Free wing-hunters this light," came the immediate response. "What we need for that…?"

"I not think we can," Wanderer huffed. "Too many. We fly back to nest, bring other wing-hunters? Attack ships?"

"Too many ships. They all protect all." Dreamer gave his head a little shake, as much as he could without dislodging himself.

They watched as the roaring started up again, only to be quelled by more beating of the ground. Dreamer suddenly perked as the noise subsided. "We need someone help us, not can go back to nest. Rock-Scales, other dragons here maybe help!"

Wanderer hummed thoughtfully at that. The Rock-Scales they'd met had been shy enough, simply running away, what good would they be in a fight? Most likely the more aggressive and fight-worthy hunters would have fought already, and probably lost and been trapped, maybe even already taken away…

But the big hunter below them wasn't submitting, it still had fight. Maybe it would work…

* * *

Fishlegs wasn't sure what was more disconcerting – the plan, or that Hiccup was _smiling_ about it. "What makes you think this is a good idea?"

_"__Many things,"_ the Fury chirped, _"__we help dragons fight hunters away, maybe they not want come back. If they not see us, they think this bad place for hunting."_

"Or maybe they'll just come back with a bigger fleet."

Hiccup huffed in amusement. _"__They have many ships now. More ships not help more."_

Fishlegs picked up a rock and threw it off the ledge they were sitting on, a short way up the mountain with a good if distant view of the hunters' operation. "Well, okay, but how exactly are you going to do that? You know normal dragons won't talk with you until they already trust you."

_"__You say you not can get Rock-Scale's trust?"_ Hiccup jeered, prodding him with a sharp claw.

"Ow! Stop that. Yes, I could get a Gronckle's trust. I could get talking with… maybe twenty of them by the end of the day. That doesn't include training them to do what's needed, or actually attacking before the ships leave. That's not enough!"

_"__Big dragons?"_

"Maybe? We've only met one and it wasn't really interested in being friends." He picked up another rock and threw it, trying to hit the very corner of the ledge but missing it entirely.

Hiccup got his head behind Fishlegs and nudged him, forcing him to his feet. _"__Not know until we try."_

"Alright, alright, I can't say I can think of any other options… But maybe we should check out the hunters' defences first? So I know what I need to get them to do?"

_"__I think you just not want do this,"_ Hiccup grumbled. _"__Why? You love rock-dragons."_

"That doesn't mean we _shouldn't_ scope things out," Fishlegs hedged. "And I _prefer_ actually knowing about the dragon I'm working with, I can't just wing it like you can."

Hiccup sat on his haunches and held his wings forward, looking at them, then offered them to Fishlegs.

"Oh ha ha, were you always like this?"

The Fury shrugged with a grin as he folded the enormous appendages, then went to stand with Toothy to watch the hunters.

"Any change?" Fishlegs asked.

_"__No,"_ Toothy replied. _"__They still bringing many Rock-Scales…"_ It wasn't difficult to see that the dragon was riled, even from behind, by his swept-back ears and tense wings; he looked as if he was ready to fly down there and tear the whole camp apart by himself.

"Okay, well I'm going to go get an idea of what we're dealing with," Fishlegs told them. "Yes, I'll be careful," he added before Hiccup could tell him. "Come on, that'd be like me telling you two to stay out of sight…"

He mounted Meatlug and they lifted into the air, towards the hunter base. He carefully held them higher than the reach of any arrows, and just low enough that he could see what was going on. From this distance they wouldn't see his bulk from Meatlug's, not from below. They'd just see another Gronckle to hunt…

Maybe that was another way… Lure the hunters away in groups… Argh, no, there were too many for that. There were easily a hundred he could see, and that didn't include any inside the tents, makeshift huts, or ships.

He passed over one of the slanted pillars and lost sight of the camp. He could see why they had set up here, the only approaches were by air or through a channel between the mountain and these pillars; any sort of attack was going to be difficult.

As he passed the end of the camp, he noticed several guards lazing in groups at the choke point, prominent against the dark rock. Several more carts were also visible, trailing out of various nearby tunnels towards the camp. Gods, how many Gronckles were even left free on the island?

"No," he growled to himself, "they're _not_ getting away with this…"

* * *

"All right, that should do it," Fishlegs huffed as he wiped his brow, tossing the saw aside. The thick beam – it was actually just the trunk of a tree – was still jutting out at a sharp angle into the tunnel, just as they'd found it, but now it would not serve the purpose it had been put in place for. "Now we just need to find another… I've been thinking 'Catastrophic Quaken', what do you think?"

_"__But what I should call it?"_ Hiccup said, rolling his eyes. _"__Big-Rock-Scale?"_

"Sure, you do that. But we still have to find one." Fishlegs looked over the trap again with distaste, then set off down the tunnel. This appeared to be one that the hunters weren't using, possibly because there was nothing left in it anymore… or perhaps because it went on a wide arc out towards the coast, making it much longer than the others. Either way, it wasn't in use, and that was the main thing.

_"__You should fly,"_ Hiccup suggested, _"__we not can fly but we run fast."_

"All right," Fishlegs agreed, then mounted Meatlug and guided her through the tunnel. True to Hiccup's word, the Furies kept ahead with ease, their lithe bodies taking long bounds over the hard ground, barely even seeming to touch it.

Just as before though, it didn't take long for one to find _them_. The Furies halted in their stride, and Fishlegs pulled up behind them just in time for them to dart either side of him and start running the other way. The ominous rumbling started soon after.

"Well that was convenient," Fishlegs mused to himself somewhat tensely as he urged Meatlug around and back the way they'd come. There had to be something more to it, but right now he was more interested in not getting squashed.

His heart raced as the rumbling gradually grew louder, indicating the dragon was getting closer. They were almost at the trap when it bellowed, urging them on a little faster through the tunnel, and then almost without warning they were passing the four wooden beams.

The first two were irrelevant, almost flush to the sides of the tunnel and set up to swing out when pressure was put on a plate on the ground, but they faced the wrong way; they would only stop the Quaken from rolling back. The other two…

Fishlegs looked over his shoulder in time to see the Quaken smash into where the beams met in a 'V' shape, shearing them off at where they'd been mostly cut through. They were embedded deeply into either side of the tunnel, and would otherwise have probably stopped the Quaken in its tracks, unable to roll forwards or backwards, trapped in the middle of the cross.

But it was not trapped, it was still rolling at speed, just as planned.

They emerged into sunlight moments later, quickly banking away and landing behind a large boulder. The hunters didn't notice him or the Furies, but they _did_ notice the Catastrophic Quaken launch from the tunnel, slamming into a heavy landing that shook the ground. It slowed a little, as if confused...

A deafening roar had Fishlegs grinning even as he covered his ears. Bolas and nets wouldn't do _squat_ against such a big and heavy dragon, especially once it picked up speed again and veered around towards the clusters of hunters.

But the hunters didn't look worried… and that made Fishlegs worried. One group was forced to dive out of the way, narrowly escaping being crushed or impaled by its many spikes, but the others hefted their large hammers…

Fishlegs grunted in confusion as they started beating the ground with the hammers. He had no idea what it was meant to accomplish… But whatever it was doing was extremely effective against the Quaken. It unfurled halfway through veering around for another pass, flinching and shying away as the hunters approached.

"No!" Fishlegs shouted. "Fly away!" The dragon obviously couldn't hear him over the hammers, let alone understand him, but its massive wings spread out – just in time for a hunter to throw a long net at it, catching the spikes on its wing and side. "No…"

He could only watch, helpless, as the dragon was gradually subdued, the hunters expertly using nets to tangle it with its own spines.

A defeated croon next to him made him jump, the Furies watching the scene unfold with him. He couldn't even be irked at them for sneaking up on him _again,_ they'd just led another dragon to its doom… Dozens of hunters were already rushing onto the scene with an empty wagon, preparing to load the massive dragon onto it.

Fishlegs couldn't watch, and backed around the boulder to slump against it. "Now what?" he asked helplessly.

_"__Hunters,"_ Hiccup growled,_ "__they know how hunt…"_ He sighed, sitting down and closing his eyes.

"Uh…" Fishlegs made to ask what he was doing after a while, but Toothy glared at him and then shook his head. Well, he had to do… something! He edged around the boulder again, to watch the hunters use ropes to roll the dragon onto the cart.

"Tha's all of 'em now, righ'?" one of the hunters shouted over the bulk of the dragon as he heaved.

"Other than tha' one aroun' the south shore," a gruffer voice shouted back, barely audible over the distance. "But we ain'…"

Their conversation faded into quieter, more wary tones for a little while, Fishlegs only catching the occasional word but nothing of use… They didn't seem to agree on something.

_"__We have more time,"_ Toothy huffed from beside him, making him jump again.

"Would you _stop doing that,"_ Fishlegs hissed, glaring at him.

Of course, Toothy just ignored him. _"__They say they need more time for that Big-Rock-Scale. But ships still leave this light…"_

"Okay… Silver lining, I guess… How's Hiccup with a new plan?"

They both looked to the smaller Fury, still sat there with his eyes closed, still deep in thought, but now sagging a little. Probably not good, in that case.

Fishlegs walked back around the boulder and sat down against it, in front of the Fury. "There's another Quaken on the island, and we know roughly where it is," he explained. "They apparently need some more time to load that Quaken up, or something, so we've got a little longer than we did before…"

Hiccup's eyes opened and focused on Fishlegs, watching him for long moments. _"__Yes,"_ he said eventually, _"__that good… We not have much time, should go… try talk with it. Maybe we think something."_

"Yeah, okay," Fishlegs agreed as he hopped back onto his dragon. She looked downcast, so he gave her a scratch around the neck. "Don't worry girl, we're gonna fix everything…"

He hunched low over the saddle as they took off, flying south; he wasn't overly worried about being spotted, he knew from experience that riders were mostly indistinct from any sort of distance. The Furies bounded ahead of him for a short way before spreading their wings and gliding extremely low to the ground.

None of this was going the way it was supposed to. Dark Deep was a sacred place, there shouldn't _be_ hunters here. It should be a sanctuary for Gronckles…

At that, why were these Quakens so aggressive? The Gronckles in the tunnel had run away from one. If there were hunters here he could understand their wariness of him and Meatlug, but of another native boulder class dragon? That was weird.

The island was maybe five miles across, a long trek for the hunters but a paltry distance for a dragon, and they were watching over the southern shore in no time. "Any idea how we find it?" Fishlegs asked as they rose a little for a better vantage. Searching every tunnel would take-

A resounding roar shook the very air they were hovering in.

"Never mind!"

Three Gronckles erupted from the ground nearby, zipping low to the ground towards a depression next to a boulder that they then huddled in. In the interests of getting more information, and nothing to do with his unease with confronting a giant aggressive dragon, Fishlegs guided Meatlug down to land a short distance from them.

They turned to him, backing up warily but seemingly unsure what to think. "It's okay little guys," he assured them, keeping his voice gentle and friendly and his posture calm and non-threatening. He could talk to them in Dragonese, but from experience they would immediately distrust him and he'd get nowhere. They had language, but it was a secondary means of communication between dragons, even for the Furies much of the time.

He hopped off Meatlug and retrieved a fish for each of them from the saddlebag, caught fresh by the Furies on the way from the Nest. He tossed one to the ground in front of each of the Gronckles, and they scented them warily before snapping them up.

This was all easy, routine. Part of the reason Fishlegs really liked Gronckles was because they were friendly by nature, and simply feeding them was enough to crack the ice. Even though these had clearly had brushes with hunters, they were already letting him approach them and scratch the places Gronckles tended to like; mostly their backs, as their cute little legs weren't long enough to reach far.

That quickly led to three happy, friendly Gronckles. Not exactly an army to take on a massive hunter camp, but it was a start…

"Well, they're friendly now," Fishlegs told Hiccup, "but you should probably still ask. See what the deal is with the Quaken."

Hiccup chuffed and approached the Gronckles, asking the questions.

_"__We chased away,"_ one said awkwardly.

_"__Not want us in tunnels,"_ another offered.

After a bit of back and forth, Fishlegs rubbed his head. "I think I get it," he sighed. "Below ground is the Quakens' territory, but the Gronckles are being forced into hiding down there by the hunters. It's getting everyone riled."

_"__But what we do?"_ Hiccup asked, watching him closely.

"I don't… Hey, aren't you the plans guy? I'm terrible at this stuff…"

_"__I not think that,"_ the Fury said with a warm warble. _"__You have good thinking. Also know rock-dragons better than me."_

"Maybe…"

Now that the Gronckles weren't distracted, they were looking around warily, clearly not happy to be out in the open. Fishlegs watched as they ventured a short distance from the boulder, then one grunted and they all darted for the crevasse it had found.

Maybe Hiccup was right, he _did_ know a lot about Gronckles, and probably about more dragons in general than even Hiccup himself… but he didn't feel qualified to be planning to uproot such a massive hunter camp, particularly not on such sacred ground.

Still, something about all this was bugging him. Being boulder class dragons living on the same island, the Quakens and Gronckles _should_ be pretty friendly with each other. Were the Quakens simply that territorial?

The Gronckles disappeared into the crevasse and Fishlegs hopped on Meatlug onto drop in after them, her wings blurring to soften the landing-

Three barks surprised him, nearly as much as the three Gronckles pressing up to Meatlug's sides and holding her still while they remained motionless themselves. One of the Furies huffed at him, both of them peering into the crevasse, and he could only shrug back, just as confused as them.

But then they tensed, eyes going wide and pupils narrowing, and the wild Gronckles backed away. It only took a moment to work out what was happening. "Of _course,"_ he said half to himself, "the hammers... Quakens must be susceptible to vibrations… So a Gronckle's wings in their tunnels…"

Hiccup was right, he _did_ know more about boulder class dragons. "Meatlug, are you with me?" he asked, feeling suddenly determined and certain of himself.

His Gronckle looked at him, taking a step back and looking down the tunnel… and then took a step forward again with a growl. "Knew I could count on you," he said fondly. To his surprise, the three wild Gronckles were still behind him, though they were cowering.

The Catastrophic Quaken rolled into and out of sight down the long stretch of tunnel as it passed through beams of light, approaching rapidly. Fishlegs stood his ground, and Meatlug stood with him. A tense questioning sound from probably Hiccup came from above, but he ignored it. He was committed now, he had to do this.

He squared his shoulders as he watched the dragon approach, certain he was right. Well, certain enough to bet his life on. Fairly sure of himself. Maybe there was time to back out…?

It was suddenly _very_ close, the air quaking around him as the huge dragon crossed the last of the distance-

Fishlegs let out a small sigh of relief as it unfurled at the last moment, skidding to a stop not two paces away, and then it _roared_ in their faces.

"Yeah, you're not _that_ mean," Fishlegs asserted, Meatlug adding a fierce growl next to him.

The Quaken considered Meatlug, eyeing her intently. After a few moments, the ridges around its face seemed to relax and soften a bit, and Meatlug relaxed a little as well. _Yes,_ he was right!

Its gaze went to the Gronckles behind them, and it suddenly looked angry again, snarling at them. Why would…

And then it locked eyes with him. He went blank, not showing it any fear but also not the steadfast confidence he wanted to project. Something told him showing any weakness to this dragon was _not_ a good idea, but he didn't know what it wanted to see in him, and indecision was paralysing him.

Whatever it wanted, it didn't like what it saw. It roared again, a long, deafening roar that had him clapping his hands to his ears and scrunching his face to weather it-

Something shoved past him, knocking him aside, and the noise stopped. He now had four Gronckles in front of him, growling at the Quaken.

The big dragon reared back a little, its tiny eyes widening as it looked over them. It tilted its head as it looked back to Fishlegs. This went on for long moments, the only sounds the quiet growling of the Gronckles and the pounding of Fishlegs' pulse in his ears.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief as the Quaken totally relaxed, fitting its wings flush to its body and settling into a more natural posture. It was still big, but it didn't look _quite_ as big now.

An enquiring chirp had him look up to see two very confused Furies. "Well," he said, thinking quickly, "it didn't seem to like me, but maybe it was angry the Gronckles are running and hiding?" It had been appeased by showing it some backbone.

Everything fell into place. It was territorial, yes, but maybe it didn't like that the Gronckles weren't fighting, they were running and hiding… "But then why are you hiding here instead of attacking the hunters yourself?" Fishlegs murmured.

The Quaken suddenly curled up and rolled away, disappearing into the distance. "We've gotta follow it!" Fishlegs shouted to the Furies, who quickly withdrew their heads and took off after it, following above the ground.

Fishlegs hopped onto Meatlug and guided her out of the tunnel, confident a short burst of flight wouldn't bring the Quaken back, then picked out the Furies – with difficulty – and took off after them.

They were led to a point under a headland on the south-west coast, then had to backtrack to find an opening into the tunnel; there were cracks, but none big enough to fit inside.

When they did get inside, and followed it to the end, Fishlegs inhaled sharply at the sight that met them, sporadically lit by various cracks in the rock.

_"__I get fish,"_ Toothy said immediately, and disappeared.

"Yeah, good idea," Fishlegs agreed numbly, holding his hands out to placate the growling Quaken again. It stood in front of another Quaken, one that didn't look so good, tangled in nets and held in all sorts of awkward angles. It must have come back here and tried to untangle itself, but only made it all worse, as now there was no way it would be able to move at all; its head was wrenched to the side by its wing, its tail appeared to be stuck to its belly and held it in a partially curled state, the hindleg he could see was wrapped up tightly and its foreleg was stuck to the side of its head.

Various burn marks over the nets were evidence of trying to free it with fire, but evidently it was not effective; dragon-trapping nets would of course be fireproof.

_"__I can help,"_ Fishlegs said slowly in Dragonese, causing the Quaken to back up with a start. _"__Please,"_ he pressed, _"__I want help you."_

It watched him with a startled look that bordered on fear, but then it glanced back to what was probably its mate, and then looked back to him sadly. It still didn't talk, but it did back out of the way a little.

Fishlegs warily hurried forward to inspect the tangled dragon, murmuring under his breath. This was beyond cruel, and quickly pushed him past whatever moral qualms he was having about any hunters that would probably be injured or worse in whatever they were going to do. The dragon's breathing was tense and erratic, it had clearly been here a while…

He slowly drew his knife, careful to hold himself so that the free Quaken could see what he was doing, and then began sawing at the ropes. They were extremely dense and tough, and felt a little bit waxy and slimy, but the sharp serration on the back of his knife made steady progress through them.

With each taught rope he cut through, the dragon's head twitched a little further forward with a pained moan. It was so _wrong_ for such a big and beautiful dragon to sound so weak… It was making him furious. No wonder the Quaken was so angry at everything, but of course it wouldn't leave its mate.

Finally, as another rope was cut, the Quaken's head jolted forward with a long, low moan, and then it set about weakly stretching it with jerking movements. It moaned again, and the other Quaken walked around to nuzzle it. Fishlegs smiled warmly, blinking back what must be dust in his eyes, and got to work on the rest of it.

Toothy returned with a mouth full of fish shortly after, and Hiccup soon after that. They were consumed ravenously, which actually turned out to be very good timing because Fishlegs was just freeing one of its legs and happened to notice as it stretched that the long claws were capable of eviscerating him in a heartbeat; having it distracted by food and knowing them as friendly was something he was suddenly grateful for.

"All done," he announced as he pulled off the last scrap of net. There were three of the abominable things overall, now cut in various places but still made of strong and apparently fireproof rope, and he happily replaced the last few fish in his saddlebags with it. The fish of course went to the Quaken.

He had a moment to process that it had _two_ tongues, one for each of its lower jaws, as it licked him.

_"__Thank you,"_ the other Quaken said with a gravelly rumble.

Fishlegs graciously dipped his head, beaming widely. He wasn't about to thank the hunters, but this really was a unique experience, something he would not have otherwise had.

Although, speaking of the hunters…

* * *

Dreamer observed the chaos from above with a smirk, perched at the tip of the same rock spire as before. Everything had fallen into place so easily once Fishlegs got his feet under him.

One of the Quakens was rolling around the camp, flinging off any nets that were thrown at it and devastating everything in long sweeping passes. The other Quaken, which had quickly recovered after a meal, a stretch, and a drink, was currently tearing into a ship, throwing up huge sprays of surf as it ripped into the hull to free the Gronckles calling out from within. More Gronckles swarmed over the fleet, looking for ways in but often making their own, and chasing off any hunters brave enough to try anything.

As Dreamer watched, a third Quaken tore its way out of one of the ships under assault, then curled up and joined the one rolling through the camp.

There was surprisingly little screaming. A few people were still running around, but the Quakens were more interested in flattening the structures than killing the hunters, while the Gronckles were specifically targeting those with hammers or any hunters foolish enough to fight. That had been tricky to teach them, but it had been the only thing they'd needed to do before setting the dragons loose on the camp.

Early into the attack, nearly every hunter had rushed for the battle, abandoning the ships. Fishlegs had then snuck aboard the furthest and knocked out the one hunter still on board, then gone through and freed all the Gronckles inside it. It was quickly filling up again, being the only one safe from the dragons' apparent rage, but aside from some posturing it seemed quite safe to be on. They had nets and weapons to defend themselves with, at any rate.

Dreamer smirked down at them, reflecting on how fitting their punishment was. The ships weren't designed to hold that many people, but they _were_ designed to hold a proportionate number of dragons. Whatever conditions they had intended to subject the dragons to on the journey home, they would be subjected to themselves. For their sake, Dreamer hoped they hadn't intended on letting the dragons starve.

He continued watching, huddled up to Wanderer for warmth, as the ship eventually departed, and the Quakens, now six of them, rolled through the debris of the camp until it was nothing but rags and splinters. Interestingly, they had little interest in what was left of the ships still moored on the shore, but took great offense to anything on the island proper.

_"__I'm gonna go down and make sure there aren't any tangled in nets or anything,"_ Fishlegs announced as things calmed down, then climbed onto Meatlug to descend to what was left of the camp.

Seeing nothing better to do, Dreamer gave Wanderer a brief nuzzle before dropping down himself to go through the ships, to ensure there weren't any more dragons trapped inside. He checked the captain's quarters of each while he was at it, finding nothing of any real interest. He'd been hoping for another lens for the hunter device, but it was a long shot, there wasn't any sense in keeping them anywhere other than with the device.

Night was starting to fall when he and Wanderer hopped from the last ship, gliding the short distance to the shore. They walked through the debris in an eerie quiet broken only by the humming of the wind and the occasional fluttering rag.

It took a little while to locate Fishlegs, as the camp was really quite big, but Dreamer wasn't in a hurry. Indeed, when he found him, Fishlegs looked like he was having the time of his life. _"__Hiccup!"_ he shouted enthusiastically as he saw them approaching. _"__You wouldn't believe all the stuff I've learned! All the Gronckles here are so friendly, even the ones that were captured! Well, not so much those ones at first, but a good word goes a long way, apparently. It's all indicative of some sort of social structure, I've already got most of it figured out!"_

Dreamer purred for him, personally just happy to have thwarted another hunter operation, and on a much larger scale. Unlike breaking a few masts and freeing some dragons, this felt like actual, tangible progress.

_"__I also learned a new word!"_ Fishlegs cleared his throat, then made a sound like he was choking. _"__I think it means 'inedible rock'. I mean, Meatlug occasionally chokes on some quartzite but I've never heard of a rock being outright inedible…"_

The several Gronckles crowding around his rock began chattering. "We show!" some of them grunted happily, then buzzed into the air.

_"__Oooh yes please!"_ Fishlegs agreed happily as he hopped onto Meatlug. Dreamer had to admit, he was curious as well, and winged up after them.

The Gronckles guided them around and up the mountain, closely following the sloped rock. They emerged from the mountain's shadow and into the light of the setting sun, though it offered little warmth in the chill autumn air, and then the Gronckles they were following suddenly ducked into the rock and disappeared from sight.

The twin peaks featured a round, sloped base that accounted for about half the height, above which rose sheer and jagged cliffs. The Gronckles had entered what looked like a cave where the mountain split in the middle, tiny and somewhat camouflaged by the knobbly rocks in that area.

Dreamer swooped in after Fishlegs, closely followed by Wanderer, gently set down – and immediately shuddered. Something about the ground here felt _wrong_ against his claws, the sensation uncomfortably clawing at his spine with every step. He couldn't even say what it was about it, but he didn't like it. Neither did Wanderer, by his quiet, strangled growling, though the Gronckles seemed to have no problem with it, even gnawing at the rock in some places but apparently not able to break it.

_"__Can't see a thing in here,"_ Fishlegs huffed, and Dreamer obliged him by lighting his mouth. _"__Oh, that's better, thanks."_

Not that it really helped… The surfaces were dark, but he could see the regular angles, a low ledge ringing the room and a weathered pedestal in the middle.

_"__This isn't a cave,"_ Fishlegs said quietly. _"__It's… more like a room. One made out of… indestructible stone? This is _weird…"

Dreamer silently agreed, pushing past the discomfort of walking to look around – then did a double-take at something jutting out of the pedestal, something that gleamed dully in the light of his fire… the tip of a hexagonal piece embedded in the rock.

He pawed at it, his claws tapping loudly against the rock but quietly scraping across it; enough to get Fishlegs' attention either way. _"__Is that…?"_

"Yes," Dreamer said, staring. There was a lens _here_ of all places? He expected to find them in treasuries, trophy rooms, merchants' boxes, but embedded in a random rock where humans had no place ever being?

_"__It's… stuck…"_ Fishlegs grunted as he tried to pry it out with his fingers, to no avail. Dreamer reared up onto the surface and hunched over it to examine it closely, prodding around it with a claw…

He felt it move a little, and kept prying at it until it slid free, shedding little black flakes. It was _definitely_ a lens for the hunter device, gleaming in the light of his fire.

_"__If anyone asked me what I thought I'd find at Dark Deep,"_ Fishlegs said wryly, picking up the lens and brushing off the flakes.

Dreamer huffed in amusement as he took a breath, lit his mouth again to check over the rest of the room, and then stiffly walked outside; the uncomfortable sensation of the rock hadn't improved.

It was a relief to have _real_ rock under his claws again, and both Nightstrikers spread out on the ledge overlooking the island with relieved purrs. Fishlegs joined them shortly after, tucking the lens into his satchel. _"__Well, what now?"_ he asked as he gave a friendly scratch to the last wild Gronckle hanging around. _"__Follow the hunters home?"_

Both Nightstrikers groaned at that. Following a boat was _boring,_ it would take up to a week to get wherever it was going. Thankfully, he had a legitimate excuse. "No," Dreamer swiped from his back, "they need think we not here. They only see Rock-Scales in fight."

_"__Well, you could always follow from a distance… But yeah, they might have hunters on surrounding islands or something, where you'd need to rest. Someone might see."_

"Yes," Dreamer agreed; there was even more than that, the regular fog banks and rainstorms would lead to a high probability of losing the single ship if they hung as far back as to not be spotted, particularly as hunters seemed in the habit of following such weather where they could. "Also we have new thing now. Hunters know this place because they have thing that led us here. They not have this thing."

_"__Hey, yeah, they've never seen this lens! We could be one step ahead of them for once!"_

"Yes." The hunters had a huge fleet, especially if they could commit almost thirty ships here, but there was a chance that with this lens, they could get there first… "We should go back to Nest now," he sighed, rolling back to his paws. "You can come back here another light."

_"__Yay, more night flying…"_

* * *

After arriving back at Dragon's Nest well into the night, Fishlegs _had_ wanted to see what was on the new lens, but of course the hunter device was no longer on his desk and he couldn't be bothered waking the twins for it. He'd gone to bed instead, and while he was restless with the impending knowledge within the new lens yet to be revealed, he was also worn out after such an eventful day.

Still, the nights were long with the encroaching winter, so it was still early morning when he emerged from his hut. He caught up with everyone just as they were finishing up with breakfast, grabbing some of the rolls sitting next to the fire and loading them with thinly sliced meat before it was put away.

"So how'd your adventure to the boring home of the boringest dragon go?" Tuffnut asked mildly.

"We only discovered a _boring_ new dragon," Fishlegs replied, "then foiled a _boring_ hunter operation with a _boring_ dragon revolution."

"What?" Ruffnut asked, crestfallen. "That doesn't sound boring at all!"

"Yeah! Why didn't you bring us!?" Tuffnut shouted angrily. Fishlegs stared at him incredulously. "And lemme guess, you found a new lens and you want the Dragon Eye back."

"Yeah, actually, wait, what? Dragon Eye?"

At that moment, Hiccup landed just outside and trotted into the hut, the question on his face. _"__Dragon Eye?"_ he asked.

"You _did_ find a new lens!?" Tuffnut asked, reeling back. _"__Great._ We couldn't even figure out how to get the stupid thing to work, and now we're never going to."

"Dragon Eye?" Fishlegs repeated.

"Oh yeah, we named it while you were gone," Tuffnut explained.

"I was thinking 'Dragon Mouth'," Ruffnut added, "since, you know, the shiny thing's in its mouth? Well, either that, or since the other end's in its-"

"Yeah but Dragon Eye sounds much cooler," Tuffnut said over the top of her.

_"__I like Dragon Eye,"_ Hiccup offered with a purr.

"Fine," Fishlegs huffed, "we'll call it the Dragon Eye. Now, if you don't mind, we do actually have a new lens to look at?"

The twins glanced at each other, then guiltily looked around with wide eyes.

"Oh Thor, what have you done with it…?"

"Nothing," Ruffnut said quickly.

"Yeah, we know _exactly_ where it is."

"If, by 'exactly', one allows an area roughly the size of our hut."

Fishlegs took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. "Just go get it, you've got until I finish my breakfast."

The pair started for the door, then Hiccup gave a short growl and they ran for it, disappearing outside.

"Where _did_ they get a stuffed yak, anyway?" Fishlegs asked curiously, then took a bite of one of the rolls. Hiccup just sighed dramatically and shook his head.

Eventually, long after he'd finished his breakfast and raided the stores for seconds, they returned with the device and a slightly singed bag. By this point, Fishlegs was just happy to have it back, and though he had a momentary panic at there being only four lenses in the bag, he quickly found the fifth in the device itself.

"Dragon Eye, huh," he mused, slotting in the new lens and then propping the device up.

_"__It good name,"_ Hiccup chirped before leaning on the table and lighting his mouth.

"You _would_ think that. Well, that's a Whispering Death..." Fishlegs inspected the new markings on the wall, a dragon with a big rounded head that tapered straight into a long whip-like body, the whole thing covered in long spines. "If there's an island of _these_ guys, I doubt hunters would be able to take it."

The light died off so Hiccup could talk. _"__We might think that for Big-Rock-Scale also,"_ he said dryly.

"Yeah, I guess so… I'll see what I can get out of it with Meatlug, you guys take it easy or something."

_"__We hunt ships,"_ the Fury growled, then stalked for the door and disappeared into the morning. Fishlegs shrugged and collected the Dragon Eye and its lenses, just happy to have such a powerful tool out of the hunters' hands.

* * *

Viggo eyed his brother disdainfully as a meaty fist slammed into the table. "A _week!"_ the big man shouted. "A week o' sailing, just to lose 'alf our fleet!"

Really, losing a week of Ryker's time was of little consequence, he was obviously just bitter about the conditions of sailing back. Cramming over two hundred men into a single boat for a week was not comfortable for anyone; even after he'd bathed, Viggo could still smell it on him.

"Calm yourself, brother," Viggo said calmly but sternly. "Do not let your temper get the better of you. Cool off in the sparring ring if necessary."

"Sparring ring? Le' me a' some Odin-cursed Gronckles and I'll cool off _real_ fast."

"That would be a waste of precious resources. Besides, I doubt a handful of common dragons are to blame here." No, it was just too well-timed…

"Wha'dya mean?" Ryker asked slowly, a dark tone to his voice.

"Think about it, for once," Viggo sighed. "The Night Fury takes the device, and two days later our biggest operation meets actual organised resistance from dragons that, by all reports, were snapping at each other up until then?"

"It took you a month to learn ter read tha' thing," Ryker shot back. "No way a bunch o' kids could read it faster."

"True enough, but they already _have_ knowledge of dragons. I was starting from scratch." Even still, what were the odds they'd start with that specific lens, and get there right before the ships departed?

Ryker stared at him for a few moments, but knew better than to second-guess or question him. "Those damn _dragon riders!"_ he roared, slamming both fists into the table.

"Are you done having your tantrum?" Viggo asked mildly; condescending, but it never failed to remind the man to control his anger. "You were probably followed back, we should slip out while we can." The Night Furies and their followers seemed content to let everyone live, but Viggo wasn't stupid enough to assume that courtesy extended to himself.

"They're too big a threa'! They were dangerous even before they 'ad the device, which I _still_ can't believe you managed to le' them take, but now!?" He spread his hands on the table and leaned in. "It's time ter take them _seriously,_ brother," he growled.

"…Perhaps we should see what happens when we escalate things," Viggo decided, picking his words carefully. "Very well. When the dragons begin to nest, get me a shipload of Smokebreaths, and a fast, unremarkable ship."

"Smokebreaths? They're the beasts tha' like metal, ain' they?"

"And perpetually surround themselves in a cloud of smoke, yes."

Ryker narrowed his eyes. "Tha' don' sound like it'll be much use against these kids," he said suspiciously. Viggo just looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Aye, tha'd be too simple for _your_ plans," Ryker chuckled. "Alrigh' then." As was customary, he took a deep breath and attempted a 'serious' conversation before he left. "We're gonna need it. Ah _really_ hope yer goin' all out on this, 'caus five o' those lenses'll be trouble in their 'ands, bu' tha' last one we 'ad? If it's _really_ wha' you think is on there…"

"Worry not, brother," Viggo asserted confidently. "Everything is in hand."

Ryker just grunted at him and ducked out of the tent.

Viggo waited until the footsteps faded into the distance, then reached into a hidden pocket in his armour and pulled out the sixth lens, one that he was almost _desperate_ to know the contents of, and turned it over in his fingers. "Everything is in hand…"


	44. Veiled Motivations

Beginning to feel cramped and claustrophobic, Wanderer pushed himself forwards, wriggling carefully but surely. The further he reached, the greater the reward, but the greater the risk. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he was caught; terrible, terrible things, undoubtedly.

His ears strained to pick up the muffled sounds around him, allowing him to orient himself. He was nearly there… A little closer… The grunts and thumps became talking, close, so close… A slight hitch in the one speaking-

Now or never! He shoved upwards, throwing his wings high and heaving himself to his hindlegs with a bellowing roar. A startled Nightstriker shriek met his ears before his eyes could adjust to the bright white light, and then something impacted with his belly and pushed him onto his back, knocking the air out of him.

He wheezed, struggling for breath with Dreamer sat on his midsection but laughing nonetheless as he fended off the paw angrily swatting at his head.

Astrid laughed as she charged, hampered by the deep snow but managing to duck under Dreamer's wing and tackle him. She had no hope of doing much with her puny weight, but Wanderer shifted at the right time and unbalanced Dreamer just enough to be knocked off.

Free once more, Wanderer flipped upright and ducked below the powder, spread his wings low, and bulled forwards, ploughing the snow into a pile over the downed Nightstriker. He then threw himself on top of it, squashing it down and hampering escape.

Astrid had apparently managed to get clear and was keeling over with hysteric laughter. While keeping Dreamer pinned within the pile, he used his tail to lob a scoop of snow at her, nearly burying her, and she clawed herself out a moment later, shivering violently. With a challenge in her eyes, she swiftly scooped up and compressed a small lump of snow with her long, delicate paws, and threw it at him.

The ball of ice struck the shoulder of his wing and stuck there. He looked at it. He looked at her. He looked down at the black limb jutting from the snow as it waved around and groped for something to sink its claws into.

He leapt off of Dreamer with a shout and pounced Astrid, sending them tumbling into the snow-

There wasn't anything in his paws anymore. He looked under and around himself, confused. She'd been here a moment ago…

He was showered with lumps as the snow next to him erupted to reveal Astrid. Growling happily, he swatted at her, amused by her feeble attempts to block or evade him.

An angry bark had them freeze, then look over to where Dreamer was clawing his way out of the compressed snow. "We were doing thing!" he griped, shaking himself off.

"Yes," Wanderer chuffed happily. "Now you doing different thing!" He fired a small shot at the ground in front of Dreamer, showering him with even more snow.

Dreamer stared at him, his mouth dropping open. "Why you do that?" he growled incredulously a moment later. "Might need fire for hunter ship! There many, many more now!"

Wanderer blinked at him, dumbfounded, then growled _warning_ and bared his teeth; it wasn't _his_ place to tell him how to use his fire.

"…Sorry," Dreamer said sullenly, then huffed. "I think I look for hunters." He took off, labouring to find lift in the cold air, and disappeared from sight.

_"What's his problem?"_ Astrid asked mildly, though her voice was quaking as she shivered. _"We were basically done anyway, it's not Berk but it's still cold out here."_

"He Dreamer," Wanderer hummed, then dipped a shoulder. "Want me take you back?"

_"Ohyespleasethankyou,"_ she rambled in relief, wading through the snow to him. Some of his earlier jovial mood resurfaced, and he shuffled sideways away from her as she approached. _"Hey, get back here,"_ she chattered, then abruptly spun and stomped back towards the nest. _"Fine, I'll just walk back then,"_ she exclaimed dramatically.

With an apologetic croon, he put himself next to her and dropped his shoulder again. He had to resist the urge to continue the game, Long-Paws were less suited to cold and she was looking _very_ cold; even he was feeling the bite of the ice through his scales. He made sure to take off as gently as he could, and used steady wingbeats so as to not throw her off.

Before the cold-season, he'd been firmly opposed to allowing any of the Long-Paws on his back regardless of the reason, but they had all been morosely trudging around since their wing-hunter-kin had left to nest and lay their eggs. They looked miserable, and though they had little to do, it was hard to watch them move around so _slowly._ Pride was a hollow reason to let people be miserable.

_Wrrr,_ though Ruffnut usually griped that they flew too _boringly,_ so they made sure to fly extra slowly and carefully with her.

He gently alighted outside the shared den, his paws sinking into the shallow snow, and Astrid quickly slipped off and opened the door. There was nobody inside, and it was not much warmer than outside, but it was sheltered from the wind which was all he really needed. He _could_ go up to his den and flame a patch of rock to lay on, but Dreamer had flown off somewhere, and he wanted company.

Astrid piled some wood into the stone thing in the middle of the room and he lit it for her, a small shot of plasma instantly heating the wood to a merry flame. _"It's nice to be able to go outside and do stuff in the winter,"_ she said, her voice still shaking with cold, _"but I didn't expect to be buried! Next time I'm bringing a coat."_

Wanderer hummed thoughtfully as he padded to his usual spot. He still couldn't work out how their strange not-skins worked, sometimes they would change them out for different ones with slightly different shapes, or more of them, and on very rare occasions, none of them at all. He supposed the different not-skins had their own advantages, but it was hard to guess at. She was even now taking some off, though she was undoubtedly cold. It made no sense.

Whatever the case, she apparently hadn't had the right ones to be tossed around the snow, and now looked miserable, hunched over herself. Wanderer huffed and turned back to her, then forcibly nudged her away from the fire.

She voiced her protest, but he wasn't taking no for an answer, and forced her over to his usual spot in the corner where he tripped her over and curled up around her.

_"Toothy,"_ came a dry voice from under his wing,_ "I'm fine, really."_

He snorted, bundling her a little closer to his chest. The contact was nice, and though she was colder than him she was still warmer than nothing, and he quickly found himself purring. She only struggled a little bit before realising the futility of it.

He was slowly sliding into a peaceful nap, listening to the merry crackling of the fire, when stomping on the ground outside roused him. The door to the den opened, he knew who it was from the weight and pattern of the stomping but he still groaned under his breath as he cracked an eye to see Snotlout entering. _"…Toothy? You seen Astrid anywhere?"_

Wanderer shrugged with a disinterested grunt. He didn't really mind the blustery Long-Paw, though he was smelly, arrogant, and immature, but the constant bickering between him and Astrid was tiresome. They took every opportunity to growl at each other, to the point they'd give a pair of courting Fire-Scales a good example to follow.

Except that the Fire-Scales would, after a pawful of lights, start snapping at each other and get into a big fight that would end with them mating, or at least pledging their scents to each other, while these two were still at it sky-ice-cycles later. He got the impression they weren't interested in being mates, but then why hang around each other if only to make themselves miserable? Long-Paws were bizarre creatures.

_"I could've sworn I saw you give her a ride up here,"_ Snotlout said suspiciously, crossing his arms.

_Rrr,_ Wanderer wasn't the least bit interested in getting involved, especially as he suspected Snotlout would have plenty to say about where she was now. Rather than responding, he just let his head drop back to the ground and closed his eyes, intent on returning to his nap whatever Snotlout wanted.

_"Fine, whatever,"_ Snotlout growled. _"Don't tell her I was looking for her."_ He threw the door open and let it thump closed behind him as he stomped away.

Wanderer sighed, but then his ears perked in curiosity. Had Astrid actually not wanted a fight this time? He lifted his wing just enough to peek under it, finding her fast asleep.

_Rrmm,_ she had the right idea. The cold-season was a time for much sleeping…

* * *

Dreamer squinted through the driving snow, then folded his wings to let gravity take him. His sound-sight revealed Dragon's Nest in far more detail than he could currently see, allowing him to easily navigate to his den.

The howling wind had been a persistent feature of his flight since he'd left that morning, to the point he'd stopped noticing it, but now the silence was heavy in its absence – heavy and oppressive, similar to how his stomach currently felt.

He trudged to a crate at the far wall of the main chamber of their den, retrieving a dried fish and one of several sealed leather bags the size of his paw, then carried them in his mouth to the smaller chamber they slept in. He dropped the bag on the ground and curled up, half-heartedly chewing the fish but barely tasting it. It felt like he was trying to reward himself, which he sort of was, but he definitely didn't _want_ a reward.

Viggo… An intelligent man, but one who had really had gone too far today, or rather forced Dreamer to go too far… He tried to focus on the fish, tried not to remember the explosion and the screaming. Having resolve to do something was one thing, but actually doing it…

A questioning bark sounded from the main chamber, and he wearily barked back. Wanderer entered the sleeping-chamber a moment later, glanced at the bag and the fish, then trotted over to settle in behind him. "What happen?" he asked, draping his head over Dreamer's neck and covering him with a wing.

Dreamer bit the head off the fish and chewed it aggressively until it lost its flavour, then choked it down. "Hunters stupid," he growled.

Wanderer snorted. "I know that. What they do?"

He was acting nonchalant, but there was a nervous edge to his voice. Dreamer sighed, and pawed at the remains of the fish. "We shoot wings, tail-fin-thing on hunter ships so they move slow," he hummed morosely, and Wanderer chuffed in acknowledgement. "Hunter alpha try stop us. Hunters not move away, not flee."

"They not flee from your sound-sight?"

"No," Dreamer growled. "I not will kill them… but I not can…" He whimpered miserably. If he allowed them to use their own lives as a shield, it would give them far too much protection. He had to draw that line, hopefully just this once, so that it would not be used against him and force him into choosing between human and dragon lives, likely with increasingly higher stakes.

Wanderer crooned _sympathy, sadness, understanding._

"I not killed him," Dreamer clarified, feeling a _little_ bit better just for that, "but I hurt him much…" He hadn't fired in the first dive, confused, but then thought it through…

His mind involuntarily played through the memory of the second dive, how he'd forced himself to commit to it with thoughts of how many of these concessions he would be forced to make if he allowed it, and acknowledging that it was the hunters' fault… But that reasoning felt so very petty after the shot had left his mouth, the man only then leaping away and instantly losing one of his legs, the other injured probably to the point of amputation…

The hunter might die anyway, but at best he would be living a heavily restricted life. Losing one leg wasn't a huge disability, a prosthetic kept a Viking mobile, but losing both legs was infinitely more crippling. It was not Dreamer's fault, but he had been the one to do it, the one to choose to do it…

He reached for the bag, but another paw pressed his own to the ground. "You want be happy?" Wanderer asked levelly.

"I want not think," Dreamer said quietly. He just needed to get over it this one time, he'd made it clear the strategy wouldn't work and Viggo wasn't one to throw men away pointlessly, it wouldn't happen again…

Wanderer huffed, then slid the bag out of his reach. "Sweet-grass make you not think, yes, but that not good thing." He nuzzled Dreamer's neck, and then Dreamer groaned with some relief as a firm tongue ran over his shoulders. "You _need_ think, feel bad," Wanderer continued, "then you accept thing happened. Think how can do better thing if happen again. I think you did best thing, but _you_ need think you did best thing. Have sweet-grass when want be happy. I not want you whimpering like lost hatchling."

Dreamer mumbled his assent, half his attention still on being miserable for himself, and the other on how wonderful it was to have the spines on his back groomed… Though when he thought about it, Wanderer seemed to know quite a bit about when not to use sweet-grass…

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. There was so much pain in the world, but if he wanted to fix any of it there would be times he would need to cause it himself-

No, that just made him as bad as everyone else. He was giving them a choice first. He had given the hunter a choice. Perhaps he was being bribed or threatened, but he'd chosen it.

"I not think I need sweet-grass," Dreamer purred after only a short time; Wanderer had done his usual thing of making the issue seem simple, and at least somewhat more trivial than it had seemed before.

"What?" Wanderer barked, then hurriedly pawed the bag back. _"I_ think you need sweet-grass, cold-season _boring."_

Dreamer chuckled, then sat up and set about the somewhat awkward task of getting the bag open with his claws.

* * *

The cold-season raged on, the occasional frosty tranquil day providing brief reprieves as the nights grew longer and colder.

Dreamer shook Fishlegs off his shoulders and shivered violently from head to tail, not all that enthused for the prospect of using his fire for something _other_ than warming up. But then, he only wanted to use his fire to warm up because he was out in this miserable weather, which was specifically to practise with his fire.

There wasn't much else to do. Flying any real distance in this storm would literally freeze his wings before long, the sky-fire was barely bothering to kindle, and though the wind wasn't nearly as aggressive as on Berk it was still bad.

But here was something of a sheltered hollow at the foot of the mountain, too wide and open for a den but providing decent shelter from the wind and snow. Fishlegs even felt comfortable enough to throw his hood back to better look around. _"Still beats the weather on Berk,"_ he said cheerfully. _"Is this normal for Night Fury training?"_

Wanderer huffed. "Not normal for Nightstriker use all fire every light." He ignored Dreamer sticking his tongue out at him. "We do this fast, very cold this light." He said the last word wryly, with a glare at the sky.

"Yes," Dreamer agreed wholeheartedly, and Fishlegs took out a notebook; he was _already_ scribbling in it, though they were yet to actually do anything.

"You know you have plasma, air-fire," Wanderer recapped, listing the two components he'd been using so far. "Air-fire have two parts. You know this?"

Dreamer hummed thoughtfully, then chuffed in acknowledgement. He _was_ vaguely aware there was something more there, just not really what it was or what it did, and he'd not managed to make anything different happen with it on his own; not that he'd tried often, most of his fire went into crippling ships where he couldn't afford to do anything other than what he knew would work.

"Good. You know what normal shot do." He took a breath and fired at a nearby tree a few body-lengths away, blasting straight through the trunk. The bare branches cracked and snapped as they crashed into the ground in a flurry of snow. "Now see when use more air." He fired at another tree, but instead of a powerful explosion punching through the trunk, there was a much louder, more instantaneous explosion that made Dreamer flinch, and a shockwave that hit him all at once. The tree shuddered, and the snow was knocked off its branches, but when everything settled…

Dreamer peered through the snow at the bare trunk of the tree, trying to see where it had been hit.

"More air make fire burn faster, explode faster," Wanderer explained. "Air replenish very fast also, good for if not much air-fire left."

The tree was unharmed… "We can use this against hunters?" Dreamer asked, feeling his head spin with the possibilities.

"Hrrr, when can control your fire better, yes. Small shots can hurt but not kill."

_"So, it's more like a concussive shot?"_ Fishlegs asked. _"Kind of like a slap, instead of a punch?"_

"I not know what that mean," Wanderer huffed.

Dreamer hummed thoughtfully. "I think that right. I try." He took a breath, focused, adjusted the air-fire as he released it…

And totally failed the shot altogether, accomplishing only what probably looked like a flaming belch.

_"Do _not_ let on to the twins that you can do that,"_ Fishlegs warned with a laugh, still scribbling furiously.

Dreamer huffed at him, then tried again. The shot struck the tree with the desired cracking explosion, and again the shockwave felt like being hit with the surface of the lake.

"Good!" Wanderer barked happily. "We practise on prey-things." The three of them looked around the cold, desolate forest. "…We practise when warming-season come," he clarified.

_"There are still boars out there,"_ Fishlegs pointed out.

"You want hunt in that?" Wanderer huffed at him, gesturing with a wing.

_"I'm not a fire-breathing lizard,"_ Fishlegs countered. _"Though I'll tell you what, I'd _love_ some fresh meat… I got used to it when we had it all the time. We could set the spit up over the fire in the communal hut."_

Dreamer found his mouth was watering, and vigorously shook his head. But it _did_ sound like a really good idea, however unpleasant the hunt itself would be… "Maybe," he huffed.

Fishlegs pumped his fist in between making notes; he hadn't actually stopped writing yet. _"Keep some of your fire if you can, got something to show you with the Dragon Eye."_ He spoke with a veiled excitement, though the only lens he could actually use without the Nightstrikers was the Gronckle one. Apparently, Nightstrikers could use all the lenses they had, but the other dragons could only use their respective lens.

"Yes, I keep some fire," Wanderer huffed before Dreamer could ask him.

Dreamer bumped heads with him happily, then expended his two remaining shots on a pair of trees, making them as small as possible and just getting a feel for the new way of shooting. "What happen if use less air?" he asked, working his mouth and trying to feel if he could get the balance to go the other way.

"Not can do that," Wanderer hummed, having huddled to the ground.

Indeed, he couldn't work out how to close the air off as he was doing with the fire part of it. It didn't _seem_ as if it would be all that useful, but he was curious what it would do.

Well, he was out of plasma anyway, and though he still had air-fire left, it felt… as if it lacked pressure or something. It was a strange sensation.

_"That's it?"_ Fishlegs asked, apparently done with taking notes.

"Yes, no more plasma," Dreamer acknowledged, then offered his shoulder. Fishlegs was easily the heaviest of the riders, and the weight was quite pronounced on his back, but it didn't weigh him down enough to hold him to the ground.

Although, he thought wryly as he struggled to gain lift in the cold air, some thermals would be nice. It was amazing how much of a difference it made, but he could handle it. By far the bigger discomfort was Fishlegs squeezing around his neck, lacking anything to hold on to.

They landed on the ground outside Fishlegs' hut without incident, and hurried inside. Of course, Wanderer immediately went to Meatlug's slab and flamed it, then huddled on the warm rock with a happy groan. Dreamer very nearly shoved him over to enjoy it with him, but remembered at the last moment that Fishlegs wanted to show him something.

Actually, he already felt he could flame again. After this…

_"So when I was working with Toothy earlier,"_ Fishlegs explained as he set the Dragon Eye on a crude stand in front of Wanderer, _"I tried messing with all these settings on it. Don't worry, I took detailed notes on what they were originally, what I changed them to, and how."_

Dreamer turned his objection into a yawn, hoping it wasn't obvious.

_"Anyway, I found this…"_

Wanderer lit his mouth, lighting up the wall with…

"You find another eye?" Dreamer asked, confused. They hadn't had a lens for the Catastrophic Quaken before winter, and Johann hadn't had any at all, but that was what was prominently displayed on the wall.

_"No, that's the thing,"_ Fishlegs said excitedly, _"this is the Gronckle lens! There was a whole other dragon on it we didn't even know about!"_

Dreamer hummed thoughtfully, then approached the images and reared up to get a closer look.

_"This explains how the hunters were so prepared."_ He ran his finger along one of the spines protruding from the image of the Quaken. _"See, these spines have these nerves in them, I think they're how the Quaken 'sees' when it's curled up. Kind of like how you see with sound, maybe?"_

"Not with sound, I think," Dreamer mused, "but similar, yes." What looked like little imperfections in the image were actually just extremely fine details, there was a sort of jagged hollow core to each of the spines and faint waves radiating around them. It made sense once it had been explained to him, but figuring it out in the first place would involve a lot of guesswork…

Or a boulder-class dragon enthusiast. Fishlegs was already going on about its hide, detailing the layers and that they were similar to Gronckles but additionally had large stiff scales over its back and sides. There was also an astonishing amount of muscle around its chest, explaining how such a heavy dragon could fly, though it would consume a lot of energy to do so.

He let Fishlegs have his fun, not wanting to interrupt, but had to ask the question when they got onto the density of its claws and teeth. "You try other eyes with this?"

_"Yeah but nothing yet,"_ Fishlegs replied, tracing one of the symbols surrounding the dragon. _"This specific combination of settings doesn't change some lenses and doesn't show anything on others, I think there are more on there but there's so many combinations. It's going to take a while to go through them all."_

Dreamer went back to the Dragon Eye, surprised to find Wanderer practically snoring, his mouth partially open to reveal the glow but otherwise looking relaxed and asleep. There had to be a better way of doing this…

* * *

As the sun set over a particular island in the Barbaric Archipelago, a dense and impenetrable cloud rose from the shore and crept across the ground. The island's inhabitants watched curiously, uncertainly, unsure what to think or do, as it gradually picked up speed.

The first people enveloped by the smoke descended into coughing fits, too slow to react but providing warning to others to raise the cloths they wore around their necks. Shouting started soon after, incoherent and confused. Weapons were wrenched away by unseen forces, helmets too, then tools, armour, buckles, anything metal, heedless of the wearers or their dragonskin apparel.

Chaos reigned supreme. Nobody knew what was happening, other than that the smoke was _alive._ Within the cloud that had spread over half the island, smaller, denser clouds roamed inside it, swarming on people and structures, both of which often collapsed afterwards. There was shouting, begging, desperation, many ways in which the fear manifested itself, all adding to the grand discordant symphony with seemingly no end.

While this went on, tendrils tentatively reached into the forest covering the other half of the island, searching… and then, finally, the bulk of the cloud surged forward, leaving a cold despair in its wake as the light breeze slowly cleared the air.

Vikings blinked their eyes clear of the smoke, frantically looking around for something to fight, though few still held weapons to fight with. Some people were running, though there was nowhere to go; perhaps they didn't care. They were stopped anyway.

Many had been injured, cuts and gouges that healed into impressive scars. Much was broken, but it was all eventually repaired and rebuilt. A lot was stolen, all recovered from the dragons responsible for the attack.

All would remember this as a wild and exciting time, many would drink to it and tell their stories fondly. It all came and went quickly, in a matter of days, and everything returned to normal. By the time anyone realised what had actually been taken, it was far too late.

* * *

Returning to Berk for the second time in a few days was honestly no more or less underwhelming than the first. Though the cold-season was finally departing Dragon's Nest, its icy talons still very much gripped this tough little islet.

Still, today there were signs of activity and life. Vikings busily cleared snow from the main paths and waded through it everywhere else, some of the more adventurous fishermen were taking to the sea, there were even a few dragons in the air, likely those hatched the previous winter and thus too young to mate yet.

Even still, it felt… somewhat dull.

Dreamer shook his head and focused on landing in the field at the bottom of the village, being sure not to drop Astrid to the ground too heavily, and then worked his shoulders. He couldn't complain, it had been his suggestion in the first place, but he really wasn't used to flying with the weight on his back, not for so long.

_"You are _not_ a comfortable dragon to sit on for hours,"_ Astrid griped as she stretched beside him.

Dreamer turned on her, ready with a scathing remark… then closed his mouth, thinking that having a comfortable back wasn't exactly a compliment, so by extension she hadn't insulted him.

_"I do appreciate the ride though,"_ she continued sincerely, oblivious to his reaction. _"Thanks."_

_"Definitely, thanks a lot,"_ Fishlegs agreed, then caught his foot on Wanderer's wing as he dismounted and fell into the snow with a startled shout.

Dreamer purred, and was then distracted by wings beating the air towards them. _"Toothy, Hiccup!"_ a loud, deep, jovial voice called out, followed by a _deafening_ roar that had him staggering.

His mouth fell open a little as Stoick descended on Thornado. Despite being on Berk for over a whole season after the two had partnered, he'd never seen them actually fly together. The Chief was too proud to accept training, and too stubborn to admit it would make his life easier, but… here he was, riding a dragon, and looking _reasonably_ natural in doing so. It was surreal.

Stoick dismounted carefully but surely, and Dreamer happily bounded over to him, ecstatic with this revelation. _"Woah there,"_ Stoick shouted, grabbing Dreamer in a bear hug that cracked his back. _"Have you grown again?"_ he asked in a playfully scolding tone as he let him go. Dreamer purred, holding himself high; with his forepaws on the ground he wasn't quite as tall as his sire, but he was getting there. _"By Odin Toothy, I think you've grown even more than him!"_

Wanderer, trotting up to join them, shot Dreamer a smug grin, so Dreamer tackled him. They were tired from the flight, and for having made it _three times_ in as many days, twice while carrying passengers, but he wasn't feeling it much right now. He expected to sleep long into the next light though.

A chorus of loud, shrill roars interrupted them, and when Dreamer's ears stopped ringing he heard Stoick chuckling. _"Seems I've found a few more fledglings to keep myself occupied,"_ the big man said fondly, though with a dark, sad tone underneath.

Three Thunderdrum fledglings, each maybe the size of Dreamer's head, dropped into a clumsy landing and bounded up to the Nightstrikers, who hurriedly got to their paws. The little dragons loudly and cheerfully roared at them, and Dreamer couldn't help but flinch and press his ears to his neck, but when they were done he offered them a purr.

Their jovial expressions quickly turned confused and then disinterested, and they hopped over to Thornado, the four of them happily shouting and roaring at each other.

_"Keep it down yeh bunch o' howling draugrs!"_ Stoick bellowed at them, and the four Thunderdrums shouted happily back at him before taking off. _"By Thor they're a handful though,"_ he grunted as he watched them go. _"How are things going at… Dragon's Nest, did you call it?"_ Dreamer nodded happily, and Stoick laughed. _"Well I can't say it isn't appropriate."_

_"It's going well,"_ Astrid supplied, walking up and clasping his proffered hand, then starting the walk up into the village. _"Good to see you again Chief. There are a _lot_ of hunters out there, all organised under some guy called Viggo Grimborn. You'd think he's a Southerner by the way he talks, I guess."_

_"It's a Norse name,"_ Stoick mused thoughtfully. _"I don't know of any Grimborn clans though."_

_"Weird. Anyway, the Furies destroy their masts to limit their mobility, but we've had a few skirmishes. Some… went better than others."_

_"You're standing here now,"_ Stoick replied proudly. _"You just don't admit where it didn't quite work out so well,"_ he added conspiratorially. _"Is Snotlout…?"_

_"Still at the Nest,"_ she said dryly. _"He's fine, he just didn't want to come. Convenient, saved the Furies a third trip."_

_"Jorgensons are rarely convenient,"_ Stoick added just as dryly, then lowered his voice. _"I think it's for the best. He's a bit of a sore spot for Spitelout, since you flogged him so soundly in that race."_

_"Yeah, he's been acting really weird too. You know he hasn't hit on me once since then? Not that I'm complaining, it's just like… like when Hiccup was suddenly popular."_ Stoick hummed knowingly at that.

The peculiar emphasis she put on his name said she was speaking about him… Not him now, but before he was a Nightstriker, though he was the same person, she just didn't know…

This was making his head hurt.

Wanderer, who was trailing along, huffed at him and tossed his head impatiently, gesturing to the sky.

But Astrid noticed, and smiled slyly as she walked. _"How's the Snoggletog feast coming along Chief?"_ she asked, glancing back and grinning as Wanderer froze.

_"Good, actually, we brought it forward a day for when you got here, so we can start now. How'd you know?"_

_"Just a lucky-"_

Wanderer bowled past her to sprint up the path, kicking up sprays of snow everywhere, and Dreamer churred apologetically at them before hurrying after him.

* * *

Fishlegs wasn't… _quite_ used to having the rapturous attention of his entire family, but while he was extremely nervous and kept stumbling over his words, he was positively giddy at being the centre of attention.

"Incredible," his uncle said levelly, "a device that stores information… One might wonder why they didn't just use a book, though working with dragons isn't a good environment for parchment, and certainly not paper. May I see a lens?"

"Erm…" Fishlegs spotted the empty bag, and looked around the crowd. "If you can find one. They _were_ all in that bag." A lot of minor arguments suddenly broke out as the people without lenses realised they'd been passed around, and fought to get one. Well, if it got out of hand, Aunt Ragnhild was in the back to sort it out. "If there's as much as a smear of grease on one, I'm never bringing it back!" he warned. "Anyway, I've looked, until you put them in the Dragon Eye they're just clear glass, or they look like it. I don't know how it works, and I'm not going to try taking it apart to find out."

He did his best to answer the barrage of questions that followed, not even getting time to go over the image itself before the Gronckle's lava faded, the images on the wall going with it. He decided to wait until there weren't any more questions before waking his cousin's dragon to provide more.

They were all pretty good questions too, though he didn't have an answer to most of them. In general he just had to agree that it was a hideously complicated system, but had no idea as to _why_ it had been made to work the way it did.

"Has everyone seen a lens ye'?" Ragnhild suddenly barked from the back, and everyone froze. A few hands went up, and lenses were sullenly passed to them to inspect. She watched sternly as they looked, and then they were all passed forward at the flick of her wrist. "Good," she said with a nod, "Fishlegs, a moment o' yer time, if yeh will."

Fishlegs gulped, and took a step forward-

"Bring yer device," she added with a sideways glare at the rest of the family; she seemed suspicious they would tamper with it, probably for good reason. He nodded again and retrieved it and the lenses before following her to a table behind a pillar.

She took a seat, her back to most of the Hall, and motioned him to sit opposite her. He stumbled into the chair, having absolutely no idea what she was about to say and simultaneously dreading and anticipating finding out.

"Ah assume Stoick'll tell Astrid, an' she'll tell you, bu' yeh should know, lad," she said ominously, not needing to speak loudly over the distant sounds of the feast. "We been gettin' weird rumours, o' someone ridin' a dragon."

"Not one of us?" he blurted out, his tension transitioning into fierce curiosity.

"None o' you lot ride a dragon o' metal, an' ah doubt yeh be burnin' down ships an' houses."

"No, definitely not," he hastily agreed, intrigued by the concept of a dragon made of metal. "But… That means there's another rider out there, someone else… Wait, houses? Where?"

"Ah dunno exactly, started someplace south. Tha' were a while afore winter, prolly 'appened afore yeh left. Last we 'eard they were goin' east."

"That does seem to be where everything's happening these days," Fishlegs mused. "Thanks for the heads up, we'll keep an eye out."

She gave him a stern look, and he wilted again… then put the Dragon Eye into her waiting hand. "I was going to show you," he muttered, but she just snorted as she carefully satisfied her curiosity.

* * *

_"I swear, you guys all had the _worst_ timing to get homesick."_

Dreamer groaned, flexing his hindclaws just next to his neck, beside his ear. Should he listen to Snotlout, who had just barged into their den probably the moment he noticed they were back at Dragon's Nest, or should he ignore the rider in favour of a few lengthy but satisfying hours of clawing at his irritated hide?

He should probably at least see what it was about. He walked out into the main chamber and fixed Snotlout, sat on Hookfang in the entrance to the cave, with a level glare. "What?" he huffed, and Hookfang snorted back at him.

_"Ran into a hunter ship yesterday, they said Viggo wants to talk,"_ Snotlout said impetuously. _"Said to be there on a little island just north of where we met him in two weeks. I figured you'd be in."_

"You talked with them?" Dreamer asked incredulously. "You should be careful!"

_"They were waving a white flag- Look, it's a Viking thing, it was fine. I said I'd deliver the message, message delivered!"_ He tugged on Hookfang's horns, and they fell backwards out of the cave.

_Rrr,_ 'two weeks' wasn't a very specific time frame, given Viggo would have given the message to the boat with no knowledge of exactly _when_ it would be delivered. Snotlout should have thought to get more details.

But then, thinking about it, Viggo _was_ a man of specifics... If Snotlout had been told two weeks, they must be planning on sailing back and arranging it based on exactly when it had been delivered, which explained the timeframe. Worst case scenario, nobody would be there and it would just be a regular patrol.

Two weeks as of yesterday then. That would give them plenty of time to get Stormfly's and Meatlug's fledglings settled somewhere, get their shedding out of the way, Johann would be sure to make a visit soon to pick up what came out of that, and then it was business as usual, more or less.

Speaking of his shedding… he twitched from head to tail, writhing uncomfortably, and turned to find some relief in his friend's claws.

* * *

Astrid leaped from Stormfly's saddle as they descended, axe in one hand and dagger in the other, taking a spur-of-the-moment opportunity to sink the short blade into the sail and shred it from top to bottom.

She immediately regretted doing so, with how quickly the bottom yard rose to meet her, but her quick reflexes got her feet under her to absorb the impact and leap off it. She landed in a roll and immediately spun, slashing deeply into two hunters' legs and quickly taking stock of the situation.

The only net launcher was already a smoking ruin, courtesy of one of the Furies before they landed, and there were only a few hunters on the deck to start with. The rest were in the cabin, of which the doorway was blocked by a flaming Hookfang and jeering Snotlout.

Even the twins were joining in on the fray, Tuffnut swinging a mace that was far too heavy at a hunter who was surely about to gut him… But then Ruffnut darted in with a pair of daggers, forcing him to react to the faster threat, then jumped away just in time for Tuffnut to finish swinging and embed the heavy weapon into the hunter's stomach.

Astrid winced in sympathy as the man slowly keeled forwards and curled in on himself, even as she dodged and deflected sword strikes with her axe. This hunter was stronger than her, she was quick despite the weight of her weapon and could hold him off… but she knew she couldn't take him on her own.

But she wasn't on her own. "Stormfly!" she called out, and the hunter was soon moving considerably slower with a Nadder spine jutting out of his shoulder. "I don't suppose you want to go lay down for a while?" she asked sweetly, stepping forwards as he staggered backwards.

He scoffed at her, face scrunching angrily. "This is-"

Whatever he was saying was cut off as Astrid jabbed her axe upwards, catching the bottom of his jaw and knocking him out cold. "Too bad, you don't get a choice," she said as he collapsed-

She hurriedly grabbed his shirt and pulled him forwards, so that he didn't fall on the spine in his back; that could turn the wound from a neat scar to something far worse, depending on how he fell on it.

The twins hefted up the cargo doors, and a Nadder quickly clawed its way out and flapped into the air, closely followed by a Gronckle buzzing out and a second Nadder. "Clear!" Fishlegs called up before emerging on Meatlug a moment later, which was just as well because Snotlout was unsurprisingly having trouble holding the remaining hunters back at the door.

Stormfly was posturing around it, not able to get around Hookfang and Snotlout, but Astrid leaped onto her neck to direct her. A warning shot of white-hot fire hit just above the door, instantly charring the wood, then a second hit the frame. Not entirely inside the cabin, as she was at an angle, but it forced the hunters shoving their way out to hastily retreat or suffer some serious burns. If it also forced Snotlout and Hookfang back, that was fine because they were _supposed_ to be leaving anyway.

Snotlout shouted something likely obscene as he stumbled back, then took the moment to jump on Hookfang and follow her into the air. The Furies startled her a little, their fresh hides almost gleaming in the sunlight as they came out of nowhere to pass either side of her, but that wasn't anything unusual.

The fights were becoming normal and routine, a feeling that hadn't abated over winter, she was finding herself better able to focus on her surroundings and keep track of where everyone was and what they were doing. The Furies, however, somehow evaded her notice or moved too quickly to follow.

She stretched and put the thoughts from her mind, just happy to be back in the fight.

* * *

This really couldn't have happened at a worse time. Dreamer was anxious to leave, to find out what Viggo wanted to talk about, not to mention it was a _beautiful_ day for flying, but...

_"I am afraid I have been put into a most uncomfortable position,"_ Johann said morosely to Astrid. _"The pieces you traded me were very well received, of course, but they… well, they want a full set from the one Fury, so to speak."_

_"A whole Night Fury hide?"_ Astrid asked slowly, and Dreamer, watching from afar, rumbled curiously. _"I'm not sure you have the reputation to take such a loan,"_ she said dryly.

_"I'm not sure I deserved that,"_ Johann huffed, though his voice was heavy with regret. _"But I do not intend to take a loan."_ He pulled out a small chest and opened it for her, though Dreamer couldn't quite see the contents.

_"Give me a moment."_ Astrid leaped off his ship to the pier and jogged up to the flat from where Dreamer was watching with Fishlegs, who was ready to take off; they were still waiting on the twins and Snotlout. _"He wants all of your hide, or… Yeah, you can tell them apart by scent or something, can't you?"_

"Yes," Dreamer replied absently. Johann must be offering them gold, which was something he hadn't considered. It would mean actually having something of real _value_ – though the Dragon Eye already fell into that category, even more so as its knowledge and use against the hunters could not be priced or replaced. Perhaps having a stash of gold in a safe place would even be beneficial, if they kept the Dragon Eye in a _safer_ place within that; any would-be raiders who found the gold would not think to look further into the same place.

Even still, that was a small chest. Johann was very tight-lipped about his business and its value, but Dreamer had tagged along with his sire when he'd been able to sneak in and so had an idea of how much dragon scales were worth. At best, they were being offered enough for a Nadder's hide, and not even one in top condition.

He decided to push his luck a bit. "I get my shed hide," he explained. "Tell him he find hollow-tree-thing that fit it, then fill that."

Astrid blinked at him, struggling to work through the words, but Fishlegs stepped in. _"You mean, take a chest that would fit the hide, and fill it with gold? Huh, yeah that sounds like a fair trade."_

_"Alright, I'll do that,"_ Astrid agreed, then jogged back down to the merchant.

_"...Shouldn't she be wondering how a dragon has a sense of value?"_ Fishlegs asked quietly.

Dreamer shrugged with a grin and leaped into the air, preparing himself for an arduous task of sniffing scraps of their dead hide and sorting one from the other. He'd _almost_ thought to do it while they'd been shedding, he'd even been thinking somewhat rationally through most of it, but for some reason he'd decided not to bother. Next time he was definitely doing it.

Wanderer, who had been wheeling above, joined him to find out what was going on, and between them the task wasn't too bad. When they returned to the pier and dropped a crude crate stuffed with black scraps next to the boat, Johann simultaneously boggled and winced. Which was a fair reaction, there was quite a lot of it, probably about a thousand gold pieces with the deal Astrid had hopefully brokered. Better than the hundred or so he'd originally offered.

Still, a similarly sized chest was selected, and Johann descended into his hold and returned with it, straining to lift it back onto the deck. Dreamer knew Johann too well to think he _wouldn't_ have come prepared, and would be making a small fortune off it anyway. He also knew Astrid, and that she wouldn't have backed down or agreed on anything less. Most people would not get away with that with the sly trader, but Astrid was not most people, and they were trading a rare commodity.

_"Uh, what are we going to do with all that?"_ Fishlegs asked as Astrid hefted the chest up the ramp. _"Stick it in our hut?"_

"I put it in my den," Dreamer offered; though not impossible, it was extremely difficult to get to without a dragon. That was where they were keeping the Dragon Eye when they left the Nest for any period of time, so it would suffice for a short-term solution. He took the chest from Astrid – which proved to be extremely awkward while ensuring it wouldn't tip over and spill its contents into the bay – and carried it up to his den. Landing proved to be even more awkward.

With it safely tucked away, and Johann already departing, he licked the fresh grazes on the back of his paws, and then barked _summons_ as he soared up to where Wanderer was circling overhead again. The twins and Snotlout emerged from their huts to join them shortly after, Astrid and Fishlegs then took off from where they'd been waiting by the pier, and they were _finally_ getting underway to this meeting. Dreamer set a brutal pace, by the other dragons' standards, wanting to make up for lost time.

And of course, the flight started with arguing… This was really getting tiresome. For some reason, Astrid seemed to think her grudge vindicated since visiting Berk and was acting pompous, while Snotlout naturally pushed back by being even more sardonic and rebellious. Apparently there'd been some incident where he'd stolen her axe – which was quite a feat, she literally slept with the thing as it had been given to her by her departed mother – and used it to pick the mud from Hookfang's claws. His belt knife would have done the job far more easily, he clearly just wanted to spite her for whatever reason.

So, of course, in their next sparring session she nearly beat him through the gates of Valhalla…

It gave him something to think about as the morning wore on, though the sea passed below them slowly.

After snarling the squabbling pair down for what must have been the fifth time, Dreamer groaned under his breath and glanced back at everyone else. Fishlegs was flipping through a notebook looking very bored, Ruffnut appeared to be asleep, and Tuffnut was staring at the water with the eyes of someone contemplating the merits of jumping.

This had passed through 'ridiculous' and was now intruding into 'absurd'. From what he understood of Viking grudges, the solutions were generally to give both participants a big stick and let them have at it, which either resolved as mutual respect or one essentially asserting dominance, or they would avoid each other with a commitment that bordered on obsessive.

But this team was too small for them to always avoid each other, and any fights that came to blows were far too one-sided with Snotlout's raw strength falling victim to Astrid's superior combat skill. He was then too stubborn and proud to admit defeat, though Dreamer didn't know what was actually keeping him here in the first place.

Astrid clearly held ambitions, if not of leading the group as a whole then at least by asserting herself as an authority figure over the other riders; Dreamer didn't mind that in the slightest, it was convenient to let her handle things while he focused on the hunters. However, he didn't know what her problem was with Snotlout specifically, though he was pretty sure _his_ problem with her stemmed from the Thawfest games.

An unknown factor on both sides, and neither willing to talk about it rationally. Letting them sort it out between themselves wasn't working...

Those thoughts were firmly pushed from his mind as they passed over the old hunter camp where they'd first met Viggo. The remains of the hut were still visible on the hill, among patches of snow, though the wood littering the ground was dark with rot. He'd felt no satisfaction at destroying the structure, but nature was reclaiming the island, which was good; it had clearly served as a hunter outpost for many months at least, by the trodden ground and wide straight path through the forest.

It did not take long from there to find the island Viggo had requested for the meeting, the two landmasses were almost within sight of each other. It was also surrounded by several ships armed with launchers, and a ring of hunters lined its tall cliffs.

Viggo's distinct form, with his short black hair and beard, heavy pauldrons, and stiff posture, sat cross-legged in a field of blue flowers that were blooming in the melting snow. Today he had a pale silver shield on his back in addition to his regular armour and heavy sword, and the rings around his eyes didn't look quite as dark.

The man did not stand as he noticed the dragons' approach, but he did gesture to a wide stump that sat in the field in front of him. Dreamer didn't like this at all…

But Viggo was not reckless. "Fish-Legs, come," Dreamer barked. "Others watch."

_"We'll cover you,"_ Astrid confirmed.

Dreamer nodded, and began a slow descent. Viggo watched him impassively, and he watched back, searching for those subtle tells. He pulled into a hover, just above the stump, reading Viggo's every tiny movement. A measured breath holding back a sigh, a tiny roll of his eyes, an almost imperceptible tilt of his head… He was impatient, but not tense, or wary of those wheeling far above.

Dreamer dropped onto the stump, instantly realising it was not a stump but rather just a wide log that had been placed there. Fishlegs brought Meatlug down to the ground next to him-

_"I would not do that, were I you,"_ Viggo warned, a hint of surprise to his words. _"Do you not recognise blue oleander? Its pollen is quite poisonous to dragons, including Gronckles."_

Fishlegs hurriedly pulled up again, and Dreamer growled and spread his wings.

_"I think I am being reasonable,"_ the hunter said casually, _"I need some sort of assurance that you would not simply kill me or carry me off. Extreme measures are necessary for dragons such as yourself. Just as you need assurance,"_ he gestured to the sky and the dragons circling in it, _"that my men will not simply shoot you. I truly do only wish to talk."_

Dreamer eyed him suspiciously, then shuffled over to give Fishlegs room to hop down from his dragon, who then heeded a signal to join the other riders.

Viggo clasped his hands. _"Excellent. Now,"_ he addressed Fishlegs, _"will you be speaking for your group?"_

_"Uh, no,"_ Fishlegs replied nervously, _"just translating, really. Huh, I do remember reading about oleanders… I don't think he's bluffing."_

Hiccup huffed in acknowledgement, then sat on his haunches and stared down at Viggo; any superiority he felt from being higher was negated by having Fishlegs squashed up to his side.

_"Very well,"_ Viggo said amiably. _"To put it bluntly, I want a truce. It is not profitable to run this operation with you flying around and crippling every ship you come across, to say nothing of freeing the dragons we capture and injuring my men in the process."_

"One, I hurt much," Dreamer snarled back.

_"Wait, you what?"_ Fishlegs squeaked in confusion. _"When was this?"_ Dreamer just shot him an annoyed glance. _"Oh… Uh, one hunter he hurt a lot…?"_

_"Fascinating,"_ Viggo said quietly. _"Is this language common to dragons, or was it invented?"_ Dreamer snarled again. _"Very well, yes, him. Fear not, he is in Valhalla, by his bet."_

Dreamer was floored, his wing brushing down Fishlegs' back as he sagged. That might be better than spending a life with no legs, but…

_"You truly are averse to killing? Curious, most curious… He was already dead. Internal injuries, a slow poison. I am not a monster, Dreamer. He wanted to go out fighting, you simply granted his wish, in a sense. Speaking of poison, I am sure you are eager to conclude our business?"_ He tossed a rolled parchment to Fishlegs, who opened it cautiously and then held it for Dreamer to examine. _"A truce. We will divide this region between us, I will limit my operation to the north where you will refrain from interfering, and likewise we will do nothing in the south."_

If Viggo was trying to keep him off-balance, it was working; Dreamer wasn't sure if he felt ill because of the hunter he'd killed but not, or the apparent poison surrounding him, or both. "I want think about this," he said to Fishlegs.

_"I currently have no operations in what is marked there as your territory,"_ Viggo advised dryly after Fishlegs relayed the request, _"and I am sure that if you wish to void it then I shall find out quickly enough, assuming you do not simply sink us on the way out."_

Dreamer nodded and spread his wings, then grabbed Fishlegs by the biceps and lifted him into the air as the rider squawked in surprise. Viggo immediately stood and strode sideways to the edge of the island, keeping an eye on Dreamer, then simply dropped off the cliff and out of sight.

The hunters remained, crossbows in hands but not aimed. Any aggression on either side would still be met with a bloody battle, it wasn't in either of their interests.

Anyway, Dreamer wanted a better look at this map. Meatlug dropped down to meet them, and Dreamer dropped Fishlegs on her back before barking at the others to follow him.

They flew to the abandoned hunter camp on the nearby island, landing right in the middle of it. Grass had reclaimed most of the site, what was visible of it under the old snow, but the docks still stood and the trodden paths remained barren. It provided room for him to spread out the map… then growl off everyone crowding around him.

He inspected the parchment while Fishlegs filled them in. Was Viggo actually offering a truce? Probably. But Dreamer didn't know what was beyond this map, or for that matter how accurate it was, it actually outlined far more islands than they'd already explored. He quickly located Dragon's Nest about two thirds the way down the offered territory, and this island about halfway between that and the border. It was definitely a larger area than what they already considered theirs.

But he wasn't interested in taking the offer, more in the offer itself… He huffed, and everyone quickly huddled back around him. "I want know what here," he said, fighting off an urge to growl them away again, and tapped a large island with a claw. It was right at the edge of the border, on Viggo's side, and he was curious what made Viggo think that island in particular was worth keeping.

Maybe it was nothing… but he didn't think so.

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

_It's been a while since I talked to you guys. Let's have a catchup._

_I'm doing fairly well in establishing a buffer, though some grievances with work put me out of commission for over a week and set me back. I'm not going to put any timescales on it but I should be able to return to weekly updates in the near future, though I can't guarantee it'll last. I'd rather be updating weekly, but that pesky life thing keeps getting in the way._

_I'd also like to say that VigoGrimborne has been a great help as the beta of this story, not only in finding the inconsistencies and such but also in giving me the confidence to proceed knowing that what I've written is stable. I think a lot of my recent inability to get the chapters out was an uncertainty in the previous chapter, which has been more of an issue with things growing more complex (as things involving Viggo inevitably do). You'll get an idea of that over the next two chapters, and there's even _more_ going on than what is seen._

_On a side note, I've had fun correcting a lot of the inconsistencies and problems with RTTE (be prepared for a bit of a rant on this in two chapters). Particularly sail times versus the dragons' mobility, it's such a great balance to Viggo's cunning and resources versus the riders' inexperience and significantly smaller group._


End file.
